


The story of flowing water

by umihotaru



Category: Dororo (Anime 2019)
Genre: Angst, Brotherly Affection, Brotherly Angst, Brotherly Bonding, Brothers, Canon Continuation, Canon-Typical Violence, Coming of Age, F/M, Family Bonding, Fix-It, Guilt, Japanese History - Freeform, Mystical Creatures, Panic Attacks, Platonic Cuddling, Post-Canon, Post-Canon Fix-It, Pseudo-History, Samurai, no one dies, post-episode 24
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-29
Updated: 2020-05-31
Packaged: 2020-06-01 02:46:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 25,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19404979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/umihotaru/pseuds/umihotaru
Summary: Tahomaru, Nui and Jukai escape from the burning castle. Unaware of their fate, believing he has lost everything, Daigo Kagemitsu takes an unexpected decision just before he passes away. Hyakkimaru leaves on his own journey, while Dororo decides to put her father's treasure into work to help the people of the devastated land. Each of them fight their own battles until their paths cross again.Fan continuation of Dororo 2019 anime. I own only my original characters.





	1. The story of flowing water

**Author's Note:**

> This fic started as a short post-canon fix-it, but this world just wouldn't let me go, so I decided to give it a try and write a full-blown continuation, a la 2nd season.  
> It is not centered around some pairing or relationship, and although there will be romantic subplots (considering the boys' age, how can there not be:D), I wanted to tell a larger story, to expand the world of Dororo and explore the possibilities the canon offered but never really followed through. The ending left so many questions, like: what will become of the Daigo domain? can Dororo and peasants build another kind of society just on the verge of Sengoku, the cruel century of constant feuds? how Hyakkimaru will "retrieve a path of a human" and what place will he take in that world? Tahomaru, Nui and Jukai "missing" just screams of possibilities, too: a body can't perish from an ordinary fire without a trace.  
> This story will be told from different perspectives and contain a lot of flashbacks. Also, there will be many original characters with the actual role in the story, as well as new (and not so new) antagonists. My another desire was to uncover Jukai's past - how did he come to serve as an executioner?  
> As I was doing the research, I discovered a lot of exciting things about that time period and the province "Dororo" story takes place in. While many of those things inspired the plot, this fic is certainly not a historical novel, but you can trace a lot of parallels with the reality if you like to dig. For one, how about the fact that Kaga Province was overtaken by the peasants around that time, and became the first Peasants' Kingdom of the medieval Japan? That "Dororo" is put in this exact time and place, was certainly not a random choice on the creators' part (Osamu Tezuka or the authors of 2019 anime, I'm not sure). Finally, all of these lines entwined together into something coherent in my head. Pretentious as it is, I can only hope I can pull it off. Unfortunately, my ability to express is limited by the current level of my English. I hope you'll forgive me stupid mistakes and awkward phrasing.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jukai watches him intently. This boy has defeated the demon within himself, but the wounds it has left may not heal that fast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is rough and sketchy, but I wanted to post it while the emotions are still fresh. So, this is my take on how it could have been off-screen, between the cuts, and afterward. I'm in denial. No body, no death. They all survived and lived together. Here is how. (And also why.)  
> Jukai's perspective.

People can't be saved so easily.

All his life, he knew it was a lost cause. To work day and night without hoping to ever redeem himself. To spend everything and to gain nothing for helping people. To see your help become just another evil for them. Wasn’t it better to help the dead? At least they can’t be harmed more than they’ve already been. A dead man helping dead men… His was a mockery of existence.

_“You still want to get out?”_  
_“I want.”_  
_“Why?”_

_Thud, thud of the wooden stave against the mass of rock and soil. Stubborn, persistent. Trying to fight his way out of the blocked cave. “Why...?”_

He stays before another blockage now, the flames creeping up his clothes, and thinks of the boy whom he has barely managed to help to escape. The fire is spreading around them, fast and unstoppable, about to touch yet another body—that of a boy even younger than Hyakkimaru. But the boy is still alive. A tear is making its way out of his closed eye, diluting the blood on his cheek. Its clear trail is glistening like a thread of silver.

Jukai flinches. The stinging pain in his right shoulder bursts out suddenly, reminding him that he is a living human, too. His sense of pain is there to induce him to fight for his life. His eyes are there to look for the way out. His limbs are there to act on it. He claps the fire on his shoulder, shuddering from the severe pain.

_“Because it's mine.”_

Hyakkimaru gave him the simplest of answers that day, but the amount of feelings he could not express was there, palpable in the very tone of his voice. I want to live because it's my life. It was given to me. _I want to be alive._

The boy who lies on the floor, his bleeding face buried in his mother's lap, wants to live, too. He isn't serene. He isn't complete. If anything, he looks terrified. He isn't willing to just meet his end here, smiling at the face of death. But now, he can't help it any better than the little child in the boat could.

_People can't be saved so easily._

No one says it will be easy.

“My lady, is there another passage leading out of this castle?”

“Eh?” the woman looks up at him, her dreamy face confused as if she was suddenly awakened.

…If the limbless, faceless, helpless child the river brought to him that day was the answer he had been seeking, that answer was as simple as _live till your last breath_. The child was never going to give him another one. He had been teaching him the same lesson every day, over and over, his whole life. Stubborn and persistent. Now, Jukai understands.

You can't become someone's salvation, but you can at least pave a path for them to continue to walk and seek it. Seek it within themselves. Jukai believes that Hyakkimaru will find it. After all, his adopted son has been proven right: there _is_ someone who will stay by his side whatever happens.

And this young boy, his brother, whose features are so like and so unlike his, should get this chance, too.

As well as his mother.

He grabs the kid from her lap and lifts him onto his shoulders. The woman is clinging to her son, her face terrified as if Jukai were trying to snatch him from her. _I will, if this is what I must do to make you fight._ She feels horrible remorse, too, for something Jukai can't really grasp right now, but he can sense this much.

“Death won't simply make everything right,” he says. “We have to live on and work hard for it. Let’s find another passage. If there is none, I’ll just fight our way through this burning pile with these very hands.”

##    
  


## ~The story of flowing water~

There was another passage: down below, on the lower level of the burning castle where they had hardly managed to descend. But it was easier to breathe here, as all the smoke was lifting up and gathering up above. Sometimes, they had to climb over the obstacles, sometimes just to clear the way through the peeled-up debris. The lady had to grab the scorched, still glowing beams with her small white hands. Her face was strained with pain, but her movements were getting sharper and stronger, determined. Her features turned so much like those of her son the day when he had refused to give up. _Thud, thud_ of the wood against the stone. _Why? Because it’s mine. I will kill every last demon and get it all back._

He did.

They did it, too, just a moment before the castle collapsed.

~

The water was there each time he gave up. If he no longer had a direction to walk, the flow would take over and show him one. Be it roaring waves of the sea, or a steady current of the river, or even a single drop of tear—it was always the water. Jukai wonders if he somehow earned the goodwill of the water gods in one of his past lives as he stands on the riverbank, looking at the boat among the reeds. The burning mountain behind them radiates the heat so intense he can feel it with his skin even from here. They would have never made it from the castle, should it not have been for that long tunnel leading away under the ground.

The lady slumps to her knees, seized with a violent fit of coughing. Jukai’s insides burn, too, but he has managed to mostly avoid inhaling in the smoke-filled spaces. The lady obviously didn’t care about that. He can only hope that she will survive, for there is nothing much he can do anymore.

He lays the boy onto the ground, taking off the scarf he put on his face to protect his breathing. His right eye is missing, and the wounds on his brow look terrible, one of them gaping like there is a round hole in his skull by the size of an eyehole. Jukai can only wonder what weapon left it, and whether it was held by Hyakkimaru’s hand, as he checks the boy quickly for more injuries. There are plenty of cuts on his body, but most of them not very deep. He returns to the wound on his forehead, feeling a heaviness growing in his chest. Was everything futile? If the skull is broken and the brain is damaged, only a miracle will save him.

Jukai freezes on his spot as he sees the wound slowly whitening, a new skull bone growing to close up the hole. He doesn’t even notice the whole mountain shake up behind them, nor a low rumble resonating deep within his bones. Stunned, he watches the tissues grow unnaturally fast, a process he already once witnessed. In a few seconds, there is only a thin scar left. The demons again, Jukai realizes. That wound was their doing.

“Jukai-dono,” the lady manages to exhale, “The river… the village by the river… please…”

She collapses without giving him clearer directions. So once again, all he is left to do is to let the water guide him.

~

They both survive. The village they have arrived to must be the wrong one, but Jukai just picked the first he could see once the night and the fog dissipated. The mother and son spend a few days between sleep and unconsciousness as he takes care of them in one of the abandoned houses on the outskirts of the village. There probably was a war here, but at least no plague has stained this land, and no drought has ravaged it. The river is full of fish, and the villagers are gathering the harvest. They are in need of hands, and his medical skills are always valuable. It is a relatively nice place to stay for a while.

Lady Nui recovers first. She is still weak, and her hands are damaged with the severe burns that heal excruciatingly slow, but she never leaves her son.

“Are there any other wounds on him?” she asks, desperate. “Please, tell me the truth, Jukai-dono.”

“Not those human eyes could see, my lady,” he replies. “But he needs time for the demon’s venom to leave his body, as well as his soul. Don’t worry. He _wants_ to live. So, he will live.”

The lady tells him everything. They talk late into the night and all through the day when they have time in their daily routine. Sometimes she cries, sometimes just dryly describes the things that have been, full of loathing to herself. Jukai knows the feeling all too well. She listens a lot, too. She doesn’t ask about her other son, but Jukai can see that she wants to know everything, every little detail. So, he speaks.

~

“Thank you so much,” Tahomaru says, his hands slightly shaking, as Jukai hands him the bowl of water.

These are the first words he hears from the boy. His voice is a bit younger and softer than his brother’s. His features are less fine but more defined, a bit cold with a firm chin and moody eyebrows. There is a touch of high-blood arrogance in his appearance, as well as in his refined speech, but in truth, this boy is nothing of the sort. Jukai cracks him in no time. The brothers are too much alike despite being so different.

Lady Nui is doing laundry by the river, but her son can’t be sure she is even alive. He quickly looks around, tensing, but restrains himself from questions.

“Your mother is fine and will return soon,” Jukai replies nonetheless, smiling. “We are in the village down the river, and it is safe to stay here for a while.”

He names himself and tells shortly about who he is. Tahomaru’s eye goes wide.

The first thing he does after persuading Jukai to let him get up is dropping down to his knees and bending in a full _dogeza_ bow. “Thank you for saving us, Jukai-sensei,” he says. Jukai can swear that there are more than two of them in this “us”.

Next, the boy gets up in firm determination to see his mother, and Jukai doesn’t even try to persuade him against it.

Lady Nui is rinsing clothes in the river when Tahomaru calls her. He immediately notices her bandaged hands and rushes to her down the slope.

“You are injured, Mother? You shouldn’t put your hands into the water! You may infect the wounds! Please, let me see.”

“Tahomaru,” she smiles, letting him undo the soaked bandages. “You have always been like this. Always caring about me,” her voice falters.

“What are these, burns?” the boy exhales, his face twitching painfully.

“Oh, they are completely healed now. I was just reckless to clutch something in the fire…”

“Your mother was pushing the burning debris out of our way as I was carrying you and wasn’t much of a help,” Jukai says, gaining a look of reprimand from the lady. He just sends her a brief smile. _Let your son know how you care about him, dammit._

Flabbergasted, Tahomaru takes her wounded hands and presses his lips to them gently.

“Mother, forgive me for doubting your love,” he whispers. “I am sorry.”

“My son,” her eyes are glistening with tears as she cups his cheek. “Do not be. I was a horrible mother to you. I have but hazy memories of how you grew up; I can’t even remember your first steps or words. I was living in a fog.”

Tahomaru squeezes his eye shut, his face pained. Jukai feels a sting of hurt in his chest, too. _Is it really necessary to tell him now, lady?_ he wants to say, but of course keeps silent. Maybe it is. To make a wound heal, you have to clean it first, cutting off the dead flesh if needed.

“I am not blaming you. I understand everything now.”

“I am grateful to you for that, Tahomaru. But your forgiveness alone will not erase my wrongdoings. I may only hope that you will allow me to redeem myself.”

“I don’t want you to redeem, Mother,” he looks up, his gaze sharp. “I want you to be true to your heart. I need no more proof of your love than I have already gotten. So, please,” he places his hand on hers, “please, from now on, live your life like you want to.”

“Tahomaru,” the tears run down her cheeks freely now, “this is what I want. I want to be with you. To watch you every day, to cook meals for you, to talk and listen to you, now that I know that _he_ is safe and free to live his life, too.”

“Mother...”

None of them talks about returning, and Jukai doesn’t ask why.

~

Tahomaru touches the scar on his forehead, confusion and unbelief boiling in him. He hesitates before asking, “Have you inserted a… sort of a prosthesis here, Jukai-sensei?”

“No, Tahomaru,” he says, “that eyehole disappeared on its own, perhaps along with the last demon’s power leaving this land. I did nothing.”

“You… know about that?”

“Your mother has told me everything. But neither she nor I understand how it came that—” Jukai halts. He didn’t want to stir the past while the wounds are still fresh, yet that’s what he did.

“How it came that he got his eyes without killing me?” Tahomaru finishes calmly. “I just pulled them out. And then the demon had to appear there itself.”

The lady lets out a faint cry, covering her mouth with her sleeve. _Just pulled them out._ Jukai is stunned, too. He thought that the brothers were fighting till the end, but it turns out that after all, they were able to understand each other.

_“All that time, I just silently watched him turning himself into a demon for the sake of our land,”_ he remembers one of Nui’s remorseful speeches. _“He locked his heart, but I didn’t even try to reach out for him until it was too late.”_

“It wasn’t too late,” Jukai mutters, receiving confused looks from them, “It is never too late as long as you breathe.”

~

They are so alike, yet so different. While Hyakkimaru has more of an action-oriented, tactical mind, Tahomaru is prone to strategizing. Where Hyakkimaru is direct and open, Tahomaru is restrained. But where Hyakkimaru is a burning resolve, Tahomaru is a whirlpool of conflicting emotions locked inside.

Jukai watches him intently. This boy is deep and sensitive, but there is a thick armor surrounding him like a shell. One has to be very perceptive to decipher what’s in his heart. And there is a deep shadow, no doubt. So, Jukai watches.

~

Tahomaru doesn’t smile much, but every time he does, his face turns soft and so very young. Usually, it happens when he watches his mother doing her mundane duties. Most of the times he is there to help her, though.

He takes upon himself taking care of the house, fixing the roof and replacing the old rotten beams, while Jukai is out helping the villagers. Tahomaru is somewhat reluctant to face other people, and for now, Jukai just leaves him be. This boy has defeated the demon within himself, but the wounds it has left will not heal that fast.

When Jukai brings a load of nice wood and begins to carve prosthetics for the villagers who lost their limbs in war, Tahomaru’s eye sparks with interest. He wants to know how. Finally, he begins asking him a million questions. How can it move? How can you control it with a mere stump of a limb? How the wooden legs can be so skillful to not only walk but jump and run and even fight? He doesn’t mention his brother, but Jukai understands what he means.

“Only a part of it was my craft, another part was the power of the demons dwelling in him,” Jukai finds it important to mention.

Still, Tahomaru strives to understand.

They work together on a prosthetic hand for a little girl from the village. Lady Nui has a hard time convincing her son to take a pause or catch some sleep. It’s not that the boy is exceptionally good with his hands, like Kaname was, but he has a bright mind to grasp the concepts fairly fast. He writes something all the time, shaping the ideas Jukai can only explain with his hands into words and schemes. In no time, he already gives remarks on how to make some detail more efficient and improve the result. 

And some of them are really brilliant.

The more time they spend together, the more differences Jukai can see. Hyakkimaru has never been attached to places and surroundings. Not that he had the chance to express it, yet Jukai could see that much. But Tahomaru is a very domestic boy. He has his favorite places to spend the short minutes of rest, he gets attached to the small rough table Jukai has made for him, he loves to take care of the cherry tree they have planted on the backyard. He even grows fond of the particular tea bowl for a reason no one understands. This is all his shell, Jukai realizes. This boy needs his shell, he needs a _home_ , especially now that his old one has turned into ashes along with all his memories.

Tahomaru never really talks about his previous life, but Jukai knows from the Lady that he had people who were really close to him. The ones more like siblings than mere attendants. Hyakkimaru had none, and this is also the difference between them; at least, it _had been_ until he met that child, Dororo. Tahomaru has lost them. Hyakkimaru has found. Just like the eyes that they had to exchange, literally and symbolically. It’s like fate was playing some cruel mirror game with the brothers. Tahomaru wasn’t the one who must have paid, but he did, nonetheless. Jukai knew this cruel law: karma rarely hits you directly; it strikes the ones close to you, the ones who are most vulnerable and innocent. Their father, the Lord, has suffered the retribution to the fullest, having lost everything and believing that his family must be dead, too. Jukai can’t even despise him, he is in no position to do so. He just pities the man. Sometimes, he prays for him to find his way to salvation, too.

It is when they finish their work and get to teach the girl how to use the prosthesis that Jukai figures some more. Tahomaru’s face is soft with a little smile illuminating his eye as he helps the child, and this is the closest to tears Jukai has ever seen him get since that day, when this boy’s single tear awakened his will to fight.

“Here, you just need a little practice, and then you can play and do things like you used to,” Tahomaru says to the girl.

“Can I play war, too?” this girl is a tomboy sort; even now she has a wooden sword attached to her back, and there are bruises and scratches all over her legs and right hand.

“Of course, you can, Aki-chan.”

“Good. I want to hold a naginata so I could defend my mama when another samurai comes. They won’t even reach me with their swords anymore!”

“That’s right. But you also can learn to shoot arrows. A bow is easier to afford than a proper naginata, besides, it is more effective—” Tahomaru halts, but then gives the girl a reassuring smile, “to keep your enemies at the distance.”

“I can shoot with this hand, too?” Aki’s eyes are sparkling.

“Sure, you can. You will have to get used to holding a bow with the prosthesis, but it’s good that you have your right hand to handle the arrows.”

Jukai notices the corner of his smile twitch shortly.

The boy is gloomy for the rest of the day, a deep furrow darkening his brow as he sketches something at the table.

“The way to improve the defense of the village,” Tahomaru explains when Jukai asks him about it, kneeling down beside. “They can’t afford a proper fortification, but there is a way to use the existing landscape with minimal adjustments to direct the attackers into this small corridor between the river and the wall, where they can be easily annihilated. If they have some brain, they will understand that much and think twice before even attempting an attack.”

“And deterring enemy against the attack is the best defense. Wise,” Jukai nods. He is amazed that Tahomaru even thinks about it in the first place, but probably he shouldn’t be. This boy grows attached fast, and once he is attached, he will do all he can to protect his home. Besides, he is used to thinking in large scales.

“To teach little girls how to fight is not the way to go,” Tahomaru proves his assumptions right, his voice frustrated. “In this chaos, we have to think of better ways to ensure people’s safety.”

“True. To teach children how to kill may seem practical, but it will only push them down the road of hell,” Jukai mutters.

He can see a short wave of shiver shaking up the boy's shoulders at these words.

“I would've never wanted her to hold a bow again, not even with the prosthesis,” Tahomaru mutters and bites his lip. Jukai realizes that the one he speaks about is not Aki. For the rest of the evening, the boy says no more.

~

There will be nights when Tahomaru will sleep uneasily. He will shift and flinch, muttering something indiscernible and moaning in pain. Sometimes, Jukai will catch the names. Mutsu and Hyogo, it is always these two. 

One of the nights, the boy jolts and sits up, panting heavily, his hands clutching his neck. He touches it for a while as if to prove that there is still a head attached to it, his breathing slowing down. Then he just lies there, unmoving, facing the ceiling, until sleep takes over him again.

Jukai wants him to cry, just once.

Tahomaru doesn’t.

~

The winter is drawing near, but the days are still warm. The village is quiet and peaceful like the slow river that curves around it, but it may be the quiet before the storm. For how long this domain will last, Jukai wonders, when the neighboring clans gather another army to seize it while it's weak? The peasants can fight back the brigands and ronin squads, but no village will stand against a full-blown samurai army.

Jukai is deep in reverie on his way back from the village, carrying a bagful of goods he has bought. He doesn't always work for free anymore. Now, he has the ones to care about. Not that they really need to be cared about, though; Nui earns some money with sewing, now that her hands are healed, and Tahomaru— Jukai pauses on his way as he sees Tahomaru by the river, busy with the fishing net. The boy is dressed in ordinary greyish clothes, his trousers rolled-up, a headband tied around his forehead to keep the loose strands from falling on his face, and yet, all this fails to make him look like a peasant. Perhaps it is good that he still avoids crowded places, Jukai thinks, for he stands out too much. He watches Tahomaru's firm yet fluid movements that alone give out years and years of sword practice, his now humble yet naturally dignified face, and thinks how much he wishes for this boy to just be happy. To forgive himself for the mistakes; to open his heart to the simple joys of youth; to fall in love someday and build a nice, cozy home full of laughter and warmth.

But at the same time, he can't help thinking that it would be such a waste.

“Sensei!" Tahomaru waves from the bank, greeting him habitually, and shortly returns to his work.

Jukai hesitates a little before walking down to the river, his mind in disarray. The cold silver water ripples around Tahomaru's ankles as he attaches the net, his moves precise but his face distant as if he is deep in thoughts. He doesn't notice at once that Jukai is standing a few steps away.

“You were right the other day. As the land immerses in chaos, we must think of better ways to defend people.”

Tahomaru turns around, looking somewhat lost. He gets out of the water and walks up to him. “What is it, Sensei?”

“The life will never be full if you're not where your heart is. This is the lesson I've learned from your mother,” he says. “And your heart isn't here, Tahomaru.”

“I like it here,” he gulps, nervously. “I want to be with my mother. And I am not against you being... more... Don't you want me to stay with you?”

There is a touch of hurt in his voice, perhaps the same as that of the little boy who was devoid of his mother's affection. Jukai can't bear it. He shakes his head.

“It’s not like I want you to leave. If anything, I don't. But this is not about our feelings. This is about… some detail being out of its place. You are sitting here, punishing yourself for what was never your fault, while you could have been doing so much more. You helped me to improve that mechanism. You can see when something isn’t operating as efficiently as it could have been, so you should understand that much.”

Tahomaru clenches his fists, but this is the only visible expression of the inner turmoil. His voice remains fairly collected as he says: “Efficiently… I couldn’t do anything. I made a mistake, and it led to the devastation of m— of _the_ land. It led my—” he inhales sharply, his composure shattering at once, “my friends… to death. As well as many other people whom I had sworn to protect. All that time I could have been doing something instead of chasing after my brother, convincing myself that he is a demon. This is what I thought was _efficient_ ,” he almost spits out the word. “Killing just one to save thousands.”

_Desire to save that becomes just another evil._ _Wasn’t it better to help the dead?_

Jukai says nothing, just takes the boy's fist and unclenches his fingers. There are deep red marks on his skin left by the nails.

Tahomaru looks up at him, wide-eyed, just a boy who's been around for barely sixteen years, a boy who had to turn into a man abruptly. Who had to turn into a demon, when that wasn’t enough. A boy whose bright, lonely soul locked inside those frightening forms was craving for mother’s love. He was lacking not his body, but something crucial deep inside.

Jukai grabs his shoulders and pulls him to himself. _So different yet so alike._ Tahomaru’s back is tensed at first, but then slowly loosens. He buries his face in Jukai’s chest.

No, this boy won’t cry that easily. He isn’t. He just stays like this for a while, his heavy breathing the only sign of so many grieves boiling within. But perhaps Jukai isn’t the one to make him unclench his heart. 

“Go find your brother,” he says, patting his head. _I’m sure you need each other._

Tahomaru flinches and untangles himself from his arms. He purses his lips, his face hardening as he slightly shakes his head.

“I was literally a demon who stole his eyes and tried to kill him,” he chuckles bitterly. “You can’t possibly expect me to just walk up to him and say ‘hello, brother, let’s get along’.”

“You will find the right words once you see him,” Jukai smiles. “I’m probably the one who knows him the best. And I have grown to love you as my son, too. I can tell that you _will_ get along.”

Tahomaru chokes on his breath, watching him with the intensity of so many suppressed emotions.

“Don’t answer anything now. But don't forbid yourself to think about it either,” Jukai continues. “I know that you can't help but be worried. What will happen to your domain in the future? What if the samurai won’t accept Hyakkimaru as the heir? I can't see him even agreeing to take that role. But even if he does, he will still need you. This boy is only beginning to live, and there is so much he doesn’t know yet. I doubt that your father will teach him,” Jukai pauses. Once again, he wonders what Hyakkimaru is even doing now, what path he has chosen for himself after all. He takes a breath and places his hands on Tahomaru's shoulders. “I can see why your mother chooses not to return. She has rejected her path of the ruler’s wife and the Lady of Daigo for the path of a mother. But you… you can’t silence your heart, Tahomaru. Your love for your land is too strong to stop care. Right now, you are full of remorse and you question your every decision. But if I understand anything, this is exactly what a good leader needs.” _Exactly what your father lacks._ “I'm not persuading you. Your path is only for you to choose. I just want you to be true to your heart. Stop running away.”

Tahomaru flinches as he hears his own words in that speech, those he said to his mother earlier. He just nods, his only eye downcast. _Perhaps I should make you a new one,_ Jukai thinks.

~

Tahomaru decides against a prosthetic eye. “I don’t want to mask it,” he shrugs. “It’s not like it will bring back my vision. So, what’s the point?”

There are lots of scars on his young body, but the ones left by his brother’s hand are the most lasting. Thin but distinct, they form a bizarre symbol on his open brow, an eternal mark of the mistake Tahomaru is never going to forget.

~

They spend the rest of the winter working hard together. Jukai teaches the boy everything he knows, from medicine and anatomy to the Dutch language and habits that he learned overseas. Tahomaru is craving for knowledge, and they spend a lot of time talking, discussing ideas and just having fun playing shogi that Jukai carved on his free time. They never return to the talk they had by the riverside.

On a rare snowy day in February, when the plum trees have already burst into bud, Jukai is the one to bring home the news he heard from the villagers. He pauses before entering the room where Nui is sitting on her knees, sewing a new hakama for him. Her son’s head is resting on her lap, like it was that day when their paths intertwined. But now, Tahomaru is just sleeping, his face soft and peaceful in the warm candlelight. The sewing is put aside as Nui’s hands gently brush the boy’s hair, careful not to disturb him. A gentle smile is playing on her lips and lights up golden sparkle in her eyes. Jukai watches them, deep love overflowing his living, beating heart.

He allows himself to dream that someday, somehow, there will be four of them in this plain, cozy room. 

He steps inside, putting down the bag of rice. Nui looks up, greeting him with a nod and a silent smile so as not to wake up her son, but Tahomaru is a light sleeper. He slightly flinches and sits up, rubbing his eye like a child. That’s good. Jukai needs him awake.

“The market was boiling with news today,” he says as he sits down across them, taking off his hat. “People say that Lord Daigo Kagemitsu has passed away.”

Nui squeezes her eyes shut, gulping heavily. Tahomaru jumps to his feet, his face turning white. His hands are trembling. He tightens his fists and rushes out without a word.

_~_

Jukai finds him on the backyard, by the small sakura tree. Tahomaru is standing straight, his face lifted toward the sky where the fluffy snowflakes appear from the darkness. Some of them are melting on his face, turning into water. His opened eye is dry.

“He is my _father_ ,” Tahomaru says harshly without moving, causing Jukai to stop halfway. “He might have done terrible things, he was mistaken, he was cruel, but still… he was the father who cared for me. Who taught me everything. Who saved Mutsu and Hyogo… I loved him.” He utters the last words almost with a challenge as he turns to him, a sharp glint in his eye.

_Cry,_ Jukai wants to say. _Please, my boy, let yourself cry. Let all this pain out at last._

Tahomaru just squeezes his fists tighter. “You were right. I shouldn’t have stayed here. I didn’t even let him know that I am alive. He died alone, abandoned by his own family, believing that he had lost everything. I—” he drops his head, never finishing the sentence, his face hiding in deep shadows. Jukai feels a heavy knot tightening in his chest. Another mistake this boy will never forgive himself.

Jukai takes a deep breath.

“There are things that we can never repair,” he says, his voice even. “No matter how skillful my work is, I will never return the limbs and other body parts that I was cutting in hundreds to the ones whom I tortured. I will never return them their lives. The past can never be undone. But this is why it doesn’t matter anymore. What matters is what we can do _now_.”

Tahomaru jolts and looks up at him, his eye wide. _That’s it, my boy. Forgive me for ruining yet another cozy home of yours. You could’ve grown to love me, but now you will detest me. How foolish I was to believe I can still have a family after having ruined hundreds of them._

“Sensei…” Tahomaru exhales, “You didn’t fall from that rock to the sea, did you? You jumped.”

“Yes. Exactly.”

“But you were saved.”

“I was saved more than once. All those years, I thought that the gods hadn't let me die because I must atone for my sins to gain back that right. Saying that I'm doing it for the people, haven't I actually been doing it for my own escape? But you made me understand something. It is not about my salvation. When I realized that you were alive, I felt alive, too. And I asked heaven to extend that life I had been waiting to end; for death is simply a waste when there are those whom I still can help. Honestly, I don’t care about my soul anymore. I just don’t want people to suffer and die.” Jukai squeezes his eyes shut, a lump in his throat making it hard to utter the words. “And that’s why I’m terrified now. The samurai will begin to fight for the rulership, and the domain will fall. The war will feed the cruelest and wipe off the earth the ones who strive for peace. There will be war and death everywhere, until a new cruel lord arises from the chaos,” he trails off as he hears a rustle.

_Crunch, crunch_ of the fallen snow. A hot touch of hands on his shoulders, fingers squeezing the fabric, digging into his flesh as if to pull him out of the deep, cold water.

“I will never let that happen,” Tahomaru looks him in the eyes, his gaze fervent and determined. “You were saved by fate. Then, you saved my brother, my mother and me. I won’t let it go to waste, I swear. I will do all I can with my own hands. Even if I don’t trust myself. Even if I detest myself. I will _still_ do what I can to help people, just like you.”

Yet again, he never cries. Jukai is the one who does.

~

Nui slides her narrow hands, no longer white but stained with burns, down her son’s surcoat, checking her work. She has repaired the little holes burnt by the sparks of fire, she has washed off the blood and the soot from the red fabric and cleaned the lining snow-white. She smoothes it once more, satisfied.

“Thank you very much, Mother,” Tahomaru says formally, but with a gentle intimacy in his voice. He helps her rise from her knees. After that, he checks his sword, a short wakizashi, and tucks it in his sash. His long tachi was broken that day, and they couldn’t afford a new one so fast. Tahomaru said that it doesn't matter.

Clad in his samurai clothes and armor, he appears almost the same as he did that day, the wounds aside, but there are some changes, too. His hair is a little longer now. He’s a little taller. His stern face is clouded but calm. Most of the changes are internal, though.

“I have said I would always stay by your side, yet now we must part again,” Nui says, caressing his cheek.

“It won’t be for long, Mother. Once I settle everything, you will be free to stay wherever you like. If you like it here, we can start anew in this place. That hill nearby is a nice position for a new castle.”

“I don’t need any castles, my son, all I pray is for you to be safe.”

“You don’t need to worry that much. I am sure at least some of the samurai will remain loyal once they learn that I am alive. Now, I must hurry,” he turns away, rushing out to leave.

“Tahomaru,” she cries out, “the time we spent here together will always be the treasure of my life. I have so many memories of you now. Thank you for that,” Nui can’t suppress her tears any longer.

The boy turns abruptly, then strides back, firm and fast, and hugs her tightly. He stays like that for a while, burying his face in his mother’s hair. Jukai can tell that despite everything, it is _now_ that he is the most happy. His soul is whole and complete.

Many perils await him still; probably he will have to fight and to kill; but Jukai knows that the peaceful moments they've spent in this old humble house will keep him on the human side from now on.

“Sensei, please, take care of my mother,” Tahomaru says once they are outside, bowing down to him.

“It will always be your home. Come back any time you want.” Jukai takes a breath before adding, “Come back _together_.”

“We will,” Tahomaru simply says and mounts his horse.

The snow is melting on the hills, turning into fluid water. A million tiny streams meander among the stones and thickets in wandering curves before finding their way to the river, where the flow is clear and strong. Jukai places his hand on the woman's slender back as they watch the boy rushing down the road he has chosen.


	2. The story of the lingering night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Takes place directly after the previous chapter. Tahomaru returns for his father's funeral after having spent the winter with Nui and Jukai as a simple villager. Tahomaru's perspective.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, I'm posting the continuation. Actually, it was written long ago, back in summer-autumn of 2019, but at that time i was still unsure whether i am truly going to proceed with this fic. My head started to develop a large plot full of new adventures, but my RL was so busy and hectic i couldn't balance the both. So, this whole year, i've been writing down small bits that appeared in my head from time to time without any clear purpose to post them, until there was enough material for a dozen of chapters at least. I am the type to get stressed easily by schedules and expectations, so this relaxed approach was refreshing. At the same time, the lack of schedules and expectations resulted in the work hardly progressing. Was it even something worth writing, or i shouldn't waste my time, i began to wonder (well, if i could, i would've probably ditched it around the time i realized it's going to be so long. But no use. It haunted me and wouldn't let me go). Fuck it, i decided at last, let's just post it and come what may.
> 
> Tldr: this chapter is only the beginning of the mess, and the things won't be progressing fast, all because i love the characters and the world of Dororo too much, and wanted to indulge myself for as long as i can :D  
> You may notice that each chapter is preceded by a short introductory scene after which goes the title. This is the anime pattern i wanted to follow (like, a short scene - OP - episode itself) for no particular reason.  
> I will try to post a chapter per week for now (~6 chaps are already written completely), and then we'll see how it goes.

_Fwoosh._ A flare of orange in the dark. He brings the fire to the wick, protecting it with his palm. _This one… is for the child who was lying on the barren ground, his ribs sticking out, one of his arms devoured by the hungry dogs feasting on the dead flesh like heinous vultures…_ He squeezes his eyes shut, but it doesn’t drive the image away. Nothing ever will.

Tahomaru, a blunt pain in his chest, resumes his way up the long corridor—an illuminated path he is arranging to welcome his enemy—and stops before another lamp. _This one… is for the woman who sat by the wrecked house, her features indistinguishable, rotted to the bones by the illness._ Maybe it is for the best that _she_ had fallen in the battle before the plague could turn her face like that, too, he can’t help but think.

“This one… is for the little girl in her arms,” he whispers, his throat squeezed tightly, as he ignites another fire.

Hundreds of faces light up before his eyes, flashes of warm fire against the blackness. So bright and so fragile. His memory holds way more faces than there are lamps in this castle. They all had died so the one could live on. If the deal was wrong, shouldn’t they have existed in the first place? Should they have never been born? Is it the law of the merciful gods his mother has always been praying to?

Another flash. He is setting his life aflame with his own hands. A few moments later, this fire will spread all over the castle. It will become the funeral pyre of the Daigo domain. He doesn’t know it yet.

Or maybe he does.

_“My brother and I were taken hostage by the enemy when we were young. Had the Daigo land not flourished, we would not be here.”_

“This one is for Hyogo. This one… is for Mutsu.”

Twin flames of fire behind his shoulders, one on the left and one on the right, illuminate the room.

Tahomaru stabs his sword into the floor and squeezes all his eyes shut, centering himself. This is his home. He can sense the familiar presence behind and _knows_ that they are here, with him, silently watching him. And yet, now, he is alone. Alone to face the demon.

The lights go down. _Tap, tap_ in the dark. _He’s here._

Here, in the core of the Daigo castle, in the room where they both were born, their paths are colliding for the final clash. Here, only one of them will remain.

…They could have been brothers. They could have grown and played here together. This is what he used to imagine, in those rare moments between sleep and wake, when his mind was wandering, untamed. The remnants of the naivete of the stupid boy who had died by the Banmon. Tahomaru knew better now than to fall into the trap of illusions; for in this story, there were no _“if’s”_. Had the demons not gotten his brother, Tahomaru would not exist either. Or if he had, he would not be the same: just a boy who looks up to his elder brother, sharing with him the burden of responsibility; a boy who is cherished by his mother, as there would be no reason for her to hate him. She would not look through him as if he were a ghost. He would not be dying inside each time, desperate to understand what he had done wrong. Maybe he would not even be called like that, for _Tahoumaru_ , “Many Treasures”, is the name suited for an heir, not a second son.

The Tahomaru _he is_ was born upon the sacrifice of his brother. Now, it is for their swords to decide whether that was wrong. And if that was—then he will go down with his people whom he has sworn to never forsake.

Day and night cannot coexist. Just like that, their paths can never merge.

The enemy, whose dark shadow appears against the dim light of the entrance, two bloodied blades in his hands, certainly believes the same.

# ~ The story of the lingering night ~ 

A flash of orange flame illuminates the twilight of the small temple, making him flinch at the reminiscence. But this memory is no longer vivid as though a whole decade has passed, not just a few months. The silver smoke of hundreds of incense sticks fills his vision, washing the colors off the world as well as off his memory; only the bouquet of spider lilies remains bright-crimson, the color so alike yet so different from the menacing demonic red he saw that day through Asura’s eyes.

The flower of late summer has suddenly come into bloom in late winter. Too much blood has been spilt, he heard people say. The soil is soaked in it. No, others argued, it is an omen of a future bloodshed, a much more dire one. We must pray, pray hard to the Compassionate One…

Suddenly catching his attention is a skillfully carved statue of Kannon, Goddess of Mercy, placed next to the flowers. Tahomaru reaches up for it. The uncoated pine wood is simple yet fine and strong, and its pure brightness suggests it was made quite recently—he can tell it after the time he spent working with Jukai-sensei. Somehow, it seems out of place here, in the old murky shrine.

“I don’t know where it came from,” the samurai behind him says. “But Lord Kagemitsu never parted with it in his last days.”

With a reverent bow, Tahomaru returns the statue on its place. He steps back and kneels, folding his hands together for the prayer.

 _“I am sorry for abandoning you, Father. Selfish cowardice it was; for I was unable to face everything that I had done… that I had become. I am not asking for your forgiveness. I will never forgive myself. But it no longer matters, for the past can’t be changed. What does matter is what I still can do.”_ He clenches his teeth, driving away the image of the man who said these words just a few days ago. Somehow, thinking about him in this place, at this very moment feels like treachery. _“Father… I swear to ensure that your last will is fulfilled.”_

Tahomaru takes a deep breath. _Day and night cannot coexist._

He opens his eye, but another half of his vision remains black. A strong reassuring presence behind his shoulder reminds him that he is not alone. There are still those who will follow him. Tahomaru rises from his knees and takes one final bow to the funerary altar of Daigo Kagemitsu. 

“I am ready,” he says, and hangs the long tachi sword that belonged to his father back to his sash. “Let us proceed.”

**_~ Two days earlier~_ **

He knew where to head first, and he was proven right, finding the remnants of his people in this quiet and secluded place by the northern border of the domain, at the confluence of the two rivers flowing into the sea. White walls and curved roofs rose against the misty blue of the western horizon like a flock of cranes nestled for a quick rest, surrounded by the tender pink of hundreds of plum trees: that was Okawa-jo, Great River Castle, an old stronghold of the Daigo clan that had been left by Tahomaru’s grand-father Daigo Kageshige upon finishing the construction of a new, larger and better-fortified castle on the mountain to the south. As the most fierce battles had been shifting to the southern border of Kaga Province, shaping into a longstanding, stubborn conflict between the Daigo and the Asakura clans, Great River Castle had lost its past strategic significance and had been passed by Grandfather to Maeda Masahiro, one of his closest and most loyal retainers, as a reward for his selfless service. And so it had been for more than thirty years, until the recent war had taken Maeda’s last heir, prompting him to return the old castle to his dispossessed suzerain: for the mountain citadel that had witnessed Daigo Kagemitsu’s glory had not stayed to see his downfall, completely demolished by the fire and the great earthquake that came afterward…

“Maeda-san, don’t you find it ironic that the kanji of our clan’s name, _Daigo_ , hold the meaning of the Ultimate Truth from the Buddha’s teachings?” Tahomaru asks, overlooking the area from the wall of the highest level, where the terraced platform of huge stones is crowned by the dim gold of an old temple. Extensive yet way lower than the walls of the Mountain Castle were, it still provides a great view of the land below, and the wind here is strong and fresh, except for the stench of dead flesh it brings. “It says that there are no distinctive things or beings, only a boundless, pure perfection.”

“I am not sure I understand, lord,” the old samurai says. “What my eyes see is the heads of looters set upon stakes by the gate. They are distinctive, and they are not pure nor perfect.”

Tahomaru hums bitterly. A mundane attribute of these harsh times. He has already ordered to take those off, though, despite Maeda arguing that they should stay for at least a week more until the tissues start to fall off the bones. But Tahomaru did not want more death to be displayed in this domain than there already was.

Down there, a group of _eta_ undertakers can be seen already executing the order, starting from the furthest row.

“I am not sure I understand either. Mother said that it can’t be understood by theorizing or speculating, but only through prayers and meditation.”

“Your honorable mother is highly educated in the religious matters, Tahomaru-sama, but I am just a plain warrior who only knows the truth of war.”

“Yet you have been maintaining this ancient temple in perfect state,” Tahomaru notes. “I heard that it is even older than the Hall of Hell. I wonder, had my family never left this place, would Father’s desperation have led him to these doors instead…”

A heavy silence falls upon them. Maeda looks ancient, just like these stones, distinct lines of his wrinkles carved deep by the harsh noon shadows, as he quietly says: “It did, in the end.”

Tahomaru takes a deep breath, pursing his lips tightly. They have been postponing this talk the whole morning. Now, he nods to the man to proceed.

“Kagemitsu-sama’s last days were full of sorrow and grief,” Maeda says, in a voice low and solemn. “His scar never ceased to bleed, a slow trickling of life that could not be stopped. There was a doctor who said that he could prolong his days by regular transfusion of blood from others into his veins, but Lord refused to even consider that, ordering to banish the warlock with his outrageous ways from our land. He would not take even a single drop from his people. He was spending many hours in this temple, silently facing the darkness, and no one can say what thoughts were occupying his mind. He never spoke it to me nor lamented our situation, and his orders were as sharp as ever, but I could see it in his eyes: hope was leaving his heart along with the blood leaving his body. If only he knew that you were alive—” Maeda gulps and abruptly bows, realizing his slip. “My apologies, Tahomaru-sama. I have said too much.”

“There is nothing to apologize for,” Tahomaru shrugs. “You are right. I should have returned earlier.”

“I believe you had your reasons for the delay,” Maeda says reservedly. “We were staying on the edge of the abyss, but now, hope is back.”

Tahomaru nods dryly, feeling a faint nausea arising in his stomach. Hope? Why they are continuing to praise him? Is he not the one who has failed to protect his people?

His beloved land, the land he wanted to make the strongest and the richest domain of all, is lying in ruins. The villages he saw on his way were mostly dead or abandoned, some of them nothing more than huge black spots of ash, burned down to the last infant in desperate attempts to stop the epidemic. It disappeared just as abnormally fast as it had burst but took a terrible toll. The droughts had ceased, and the floods never returned; but what they had left behind, Tahomaru could barely recognize as once rich and green Ishikawa fields. The war then harvested what the calamities had left over: the young and strong, the ones who could have rebuilt the villages and revived the paddies…

Indeed, an edge of an abyss it is, but can his return somehow turn the tides, like they all hope? It will take years, dozens of years to make this land a decent place again, let alone a prosperous one—

Tahomaru shakes his head slightly. He can’t miraculously fix everything, but at least he can prevent another war. Internal fights for the succession will finish this domain and send it down to hell, just as Jukai-sensei feared. He should act fast, reestablishing his power, before some greedy clan would think of grabbing the land and everything that is left on it, looting the villages and the peasants’ last storages…

“What were my father’s last orders?” Tahomaru asks: it is time to focus on the matters at hand.

But Maeda doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he bows his head slightly as if in apology, several loose silver strands falling over his brow and hiding his eyes. Tahomaru turns to look at him, puzzled.

“These words have been spoken with his last breath: _‘Find my son Hyakkimaru. He must inherit this land. Ensure that’_ ,” Maeda says at length, causing Tahomaru’s heart to skip a beat. “That was Lord Kagemitsu’s last will. I charged the troops immediately; they left two days ago, but the search has not brought any results so far.”

“I see. Thank you for hurrying,” Tahomaru exhales.

“Lord,” Maeda raises his head and looks at him straight, his eyes harsh, “it seems like your brother does not want anything to do with this land. Besides—please forgive me for speaking so very candidly—he is not educated enough for the hardest duty of rulership. In the hopelessness of the situation we were facing, a desperate move like that could have been the despair that miraculously brings hope. But the change in circumstances must not be ignored. I beg you, my lord, take this duty upon yourself as you have always been preparing to do.”

“You have heard the lord’s will”, Tahomaru says calmly _,_ emphasizing the word _“lord”_ , “and it is clear. Do you want to disobey it?”

“Never, even if I must die,” Maeda raises his chin proudly. “But it is not me whom you should be concerned about, Tahomaru-sama. I regret to say it, but there are samurai whose loyalty and resolve in following our late lord’s will may not stay unaffected by the essence of it.”

Tahomaru frowns. “What is it with you weaving the words like a court lady? You should not be so careful in your speech with me, Maeda-san. You have known me ever since I was a crying bundle on my wet nurse’s hands and seen me drooling at my father’s sleeves. Talk straight.”

“My profound apologies, lord,” the man nods his uncapped white head in a short and sharp warrior’s bow. “I am talking about Imagawa Yoshinori who has significant forces under his command in the Daishoji fortress, where he is staying to secure the western border. His three sons were killed—” he halts and immediately corrects himself, “ _fell_ in the Battle by The Two Pines.”

Tahomaru closes his eye, gulping heavily. “The Battle by The Two Pines” is what the carnage his brother and the demon-horse wrought has been poetically called. About two hundred soldiers died there, and hundreds more were left limbless cripples. Many of those soldiers had been freshly recruited peasants, and their families were left to survive in the devastated villages on their own. But maybe it wasn’t the worst, and the hardest consequences were yet to sprout. Noble clans that have lost their heirs there will not forget and will not forgive; for the revenge has always been the Ultimate Truth of samurai, a sacred right and a duty to the dead no earthly law could restrict them from.

“We shall see,” Tahomaru says, tightening his jaw. “For now, inform him that I am alive and expecting to see him here, that’s all. Once he arrives, I shall speak to him about this matter.”

“Already done, lord. I sent messengers this morning: they are to bring the word of your miraculous return to all the samurai of the land. Concerning Lord Kagemitsu’s last will, only the closest retainers have been informed of it, as of yet.”

Tahomaru hums. Understandable. Maeda wanted to find Hyakkimaru first and meanwhile confirm the senior vassals’ consent, which on itself seemed like a lost cause: most likely, a feud would have arisen between Maeda’s loyal faction and those like Imagawa who would have opposed Hyakkimaru’s right of succession—and Maeda’s factual regency. Besides, had Maeda announced Lord Kagemitsu’s will right away, Hyakkimaru, unaware of it, would have become a target for any clan tempted to seize the power.

But the main reason was, of course, Maeda’s own reluctance to give out the rule to the one who had brought, or so they must think, the devastation to their land.

Tahomaru sighs. “Trust my father’s judgment, Maeda-san.”

“He did it only because he believed that you were dead, lord,” the samurai objects, restrained yet firm.

“No,” Tahomaru shakes his head, his sight fixed on the faraway horizon. How big the world outside his domain is… but the farthest he’s ever been is Hakkotsu cape on the northern shores of Noto, half a day by sea from here… “I see in this decision his remorse for what he had done. Father must have regretted not raising Hyakkimaru as his heir. My brother is stronger than me, he would have never made the mistakes I did. Had he been put in my place, he would have found the way to keep our land safe and prosperous by right means.”

“What are you even saying, Tahomaru-sama!” Maeda chokes on his breath, no longer composed, his grey bushy eyebrows bristling in indignation. “Your brother may be strong, but he lacks the love for this land that you have! You were willing to die and go to Hell for your people, while what he did was killing them so that _he_ could live on. True, that was the divine punishment we all had deserved, but this land needs a samurai who is ready to give up his life for it, not an incarnation of the fearsome Fudo, to rule.”

“I have never said that our people deserved any divine punishment,” Tahomaru retorts harshly. “If anyone did, it is only my family. My brother was blind, deaf, mute and limbless for the best part of his life, exiled and rejected by his own parents. This is the only reason why he has no understanding of such things as duty and responsibility to our people. But I believe that he repents bitterly of the deaths he has caused. He is neither a demon nor a fearsome god. I know that he defeated the rage in himself and chose the path of a human."

 _“You are lacking, just like me. You are the same as me.”_ Those words ring in his ears as Tahomaru recalls his brother’s face at the moment when he crouched down to him. “ _Tahomaru_.” His voice was so soft when he uttered his name. A gentle smile was tugging at his lips. A demon? The only person who looked deep into his heart and understood him. Who noticed the huge hole there. That was his brother. Tahomaru’s whole world turned upside down that very moment… The moment he lost. The moment he realized that, despite his goal to protect the innocent majority, he had never been destined to win that fight.

“He may lack the proper education,” Tahomaru adds, “but it is not so hard to attain. What is more important is his heart, and his right to inherit this land which no one can take away from him. He was born first, not me. We must follow our karma.”

Maeda’s face changes. He regards Tahomaru not with a vassal restraint but with an amazement of a parent who realized that the child had grown.

“You have changed, my lord. You have never been the one to bring up such things as the divine law.”

“Maybe I should have.”

Tahomaru remembers his worst nightmare: the image of his mother’s back turned on him, her hands folded together in the praying gesture; the nightmare that would come true every morning he would wake up. He hated all the things divine. All those deities who wanted humans to beg on their knees like miserable dogs… He believed that a man can be strong enough to achieve anything with his own hands. Tahomaru squeezes his fists. A lot has happened lately to dissuade him of that delusion. The law of karma is as unbreakable as day and night taking turns over the land: that is why the Goddess of Mercy had defended Hyakkimaru and not all those thousands of children who died of starvation and sickness, instead.

“I will trust your judgment, Tahomaru-sama,” Maeda decides, his voice humble yet firm. “People said that you were wearing the demon’s eyes and were endowed with the demon’s strength that day, but I see that you have defeated it in yourself, too.”

Tahomaru nods with gratitude. All he has to believe is that in the end, he truly did.

“But I beg for just one thing, my lord,” the old samurai adds, a distinct tremor in his voice betraying the intensity of his agitation. “Take the rule for the time being, accept the samurai’s oaths of allegiance. Do not let the chaos of uncertainty take over this land.”

“Do not worry, Maeda-san. I will not,” Tahomaru says. “After all, this is what I am here for.”

~

“Lord, your wet nurse and other maids are safe and beyond happy to serve you again,” Maeda says once they descend to the lower terrace of the castle hill. “They will show you to your chambers.”

A warmth fills his chest as Tahomaru sees the group of women hastily approach him and drop down to their knees, prostrating themselves. Their shoulders are trembling with the suppressed cries. Not all his previous life has gone, after all, he thinks with a weird mix of feelings. There are still people left who were a huge part of it, who watched him grow, who took care of him every day, a humble and quiet, yet important presence.

Not perfectly quiet, Tahomaru corrects himself with a smile, reminiscing his wet nurse Umeko’s constant fussing over his scratches and boyish adventures in his childhood days. Later, she would scold him for pushing himself too much in training and for riding off without notice, worrying his father and making Mutsu and Hyogo rush after him. But she was quiet that day. The day he ordered everyone to vacate the castle. Only her eyes full of tears were screaming as she silently bowed down to him and left, pulling a younger maid with her.

“Rise, please,” Tahomaru says, his voice faltering. “I am glad to see you all safe and sound, too.”

The women’s cheeks are wet with tears of joy as they lift their faces; only one head, hair lush and shimmering like starry night, remains bowed. Tahomaru’s heart gives a start as he recalls how soft it felt to the touch. The very next moment, it drops with another reminiscence. He sets his teeth, slamming the memory shut.

~

His new chambers are bright and warm, opening into the small inner garden—completely unlike his old room that was watching the high outer terrace from which half of his domain could be seen. Tahomaru is perfectly content with that. The scent of the blooming trees and the soft sunlight seeping through the green are calming. Probably, it used to be his ancestors’ nursery.

“Thank you very much, Furi,” Tahomaru nods his head slightly, accepting the bowl of tea.

The girl who is seated against him in a perfect _seiza_ posture, her small hands folded on top of her bended knees, bows down in her turn. A shy smile is touching the corners of her plump lips—a slight disturbance in the calm flow of the proper tea ceremony. He can say it without even lifting his gaze from the thick froth of his tea. She is so very young, barely older than him, and pretty in that sweetest way that makes the blood heat up, but Tahomaru can’t bring himself to as much as look at her.

Still, he sees enough with his peripheral vision: the gentle whiteness of the skin, undertoned with the delicate pink that harmonizes so nicely with the plum flowers on her violet kimono, too fancy for a maid (her father, a minor samurai, must have achieved a deed of importance in a battle to earn money for it); the eyes dark and deep in an unusual way; the hair too puffy and light to conform to the strictness of the proper hairstyle, slightly curving on the tips…

“It feels nostalgic,” Tahomaru says to fill the uneasy silence. “To have you serve me tea like this.”

“My lord was so busy last season,” Furi says lightly as though completely oblivious to that uneasiness, but he can tell she is faking it, not even too masterfully. Although her name means “pretense”, she has always been pretty bad at subtle performances. If it hadn’t been for this little fault, she could have made a splendid career even at Court, or so people would say; he wasn’t competent in that matter to judge. “You were training so hard; I would not dare to distract you with such a trifle.” 

“My whole life was a training to become the strongest on this land, as an heir should be, to protect my people,” Tahomaru smiles bitterly, a familiar frustration filling his body once again with the echo of an old, never really healing wound. “Every day, I was training and studying hard. I practiced more than I slept. But in the end, it proved to be futile.”

His head down, he clenches his bowl, unable to face her. Was it right before they burned down that rat monster’s house or later, after the unfortunate battle on the cape? His mind was clouded with darkness, focused on one thing: killing his feelings. Feelings were what made him weak, blunting his resolve, he believed. He had no such privilege as to waver. Mutsu had been right, she had been so right more than half a year before that, prior even to the first calamity striking their land. Feelings could get in the way of your duty if you weren’t strong enough to cut them off. And he had to be strong. He had to cut that final string…

“Nah, all I say is excuses,” Tahomaru shakes up, driving the remnants of that darkness from his mind. He takes a breath and finally looks up at the girl. “Please, forgive me for that night, Furi,” he clenches his teeth and bows deeply, knuckles pressed hard to the tatami.

“My lord, you should not be apologizing to me!” Furi staggers back, sounding genuinely scared. “I am only here to be what you want me to be. Doing your will is what makes me the happiest of the living,” a fervent flush paints her cheeks at this obligatory expression of humility, just like it did back then, when he had ordered her to stay. Tahomaru remembers touching that flush with his fingertips. He remembers the fiery heat that overtook him a moment later, though hazy. That was the first time he ever touched her. Even though it was another face, another skin he had been dreaming of touching like that for a long time…

“Forget that nonsense,” Tahomaru flares up, feeling the blood throb in his temple. “From this day I release you from my service.”

Furi’s face turns white just as fast. Too open and emotive for a maid. But then again, she hasn’t been brought to him as just another maid…

 _“Father has assigned that girl to serve me and ‘educate’ me, as he said,”_ a scene from the past flits through his mind. _“I mean, what is she even supposed to be? She is barely older than me! And I never asked for that! Anyway, I don’t want to do it with her.”_

_“You sure? She seems nice…”_

_“I’m not saying she isn’t. It’s not the point, Hyogo! It just… doesn’t feel right…”_

Furi bows down ceremoniously, joining the tips of her fingers on the tatami and all but touching her forehead to them. “If my lord dismisses me, I regretfully accept it.” She stays like this for a few moments. Her eyelids remain shut as she rises, her thick eyelashes fluttering. There is an edge to her voice as she says: “Forgive me for failing you, Tahomaru-sama. I am deeply sorry.”

Her small hand twitches as if to slide into the opening of her kimono. Tahomaru feels the blood freeze in his veins along with the time around them. He already once witnessed the scene.

He jumps to his feet, flipping the small table over. The hot green splashes across the field of plum flowers. “Stupid!” he thunders, drawing a _tanto_ knife from the girl’s bosom. “That’s not about failing! I’m only giving you the freedom to live as you wish. Don’t you wish to be free from this service?”

“I… _wish_?” Her agate eyes are wide with trembling tears as she repeats the word she must have been taught to forget forever. She pays no attention to her soaked and disordered kimono, to the pain the splashed tea must have caused.

“Yes. You must do what you truly wish. This is my final order to you,” Tahomaru says, struggling to control the tremor in his voice as his heart pounds in his chest. “I shall make sure that you and your family never want for anything; you can stay wherever you like, in the castle or down in the village, or even somewhere far away from here…”

The tears are running down her cheeks and her voice is shaking as Furi manages to utter, “But all I want is to serve you, my lord.”

 _Why?_ Tahomaru turns away in an unbearable frustration, suppressing the desire to pull at his hair. He doesn’t understand a single thing. Is it about her sense of duty engraved deep into her being, or her genuine love for him? _Love?_ Is there even anything left to love in him? What is he supposed to do? All this is suffocating. These eyes and these hands, these disordered layers of the crumpled silk… And these walls, and the chambers of the lords long gone, the sunlit gardens and the blooming plum trees—they are no longer offering comfort; they are like a frail dream decorating the dark immensity of the dead landscape. A desire to flee, somewhere, far away, suddenly takes over his mind. How the hell can he rule the domain if he can’t deal with his own servants? The outside world is so large… Hopefully, once he’s found his brother—

“My lord…”

Deafened by the pulsing of blood in his ears, Tahomaru barely recognizes Furi’s words.

Her voice is still a bit shaky but collected as she says, answering his unspoken question: “Day by day, I have been watching you working hard to avert the doom of this land. You were giving your everything to your people. You barely slept; you trained day and night; you were out helping villagers more often than you visited your beloved mother. That night… you sacrificed your own heart. I was moved deeply.” Furi’s voice breaks, and she takes a deep breath before continuing: “I am just a weak woman, but my strongest desire is to help you with everything I have to carry this burden. I will never ask for your attention again. Please, allow me to just stay by your side as a silent shadow and serve you, in whatever way you want me to. Because this is what I _truly_ _wish_.”

Tahomaru’s cheek twitches as he tries to still his heart. He can only nod, unable to look at her, yet accepting the request.

He must not run away. Eternally mutilated with the ugly scars, reminders of all his faults, he can never, ever run away from them.

~

The long day of ceremonies begins. The news spread fast, and samurai from across the land rush to Great River Castle to greet him and to pledge their lives and the lives of their families to the service of the new Lord. Everyone praises Tahomaru, son of Daigo Kagemitsu, the young ruler of the Ishikawa domain, the one who returned from Hell and brought back hope to their land. They love him. They trust him. They are ready to follow him.

It will not be for long, Tahomaru repeats in his thoughts, accepting yet another pledge. His duty is to put everything in order and to pass the rule to his brother, the true heir of Daigo, once he is found.

Tahomaru will do all he can to persuade him to take over this land. He will choose the most loyal and sincere samurai to help him and guide him; he will make sure there are no unrests, and the others, too, realize what he realized that day. Hyakkimaru, blessed with his unhuman strength and agility, might seem a wild, half-wit demonic creature barely able to communicate, or so Tahomaru would talk himself into believing; but in truth, he was not.

That day, Tahomaru understood it painfully clear.

Hyakkimaru was the true heir blessed by the gods to bring down what had been built on his blood. He was not only strong but wise and merciful. He was the one to stop his blade and spare his brother’s life.

~

The funeral feast is held on the same night. Many songs are sung, and many poems of war and valor are read within the great hall of the old castle. The samurai, violent and brutal warriors, cry like little children over the stories of heroic deaths as the young crescent moon goes down behind the sea, and hundreds of lights illuminate the valley. Daigo Kagemitsu is glorified as a tragic hero who sacrificed his son along with his own soul for the people but was brought down by the cruel and almighty Fate in the end. Hyakkimaru is considered a hero, too; for at this moment, there are no foes and no allies, only the poetic tragedy of doom. Although the stories of his fights with the demons are mostly made up, exaggerated and embellished, as no one can know those for certain, they move the warriors’ hearts, and tears overflow their eyes just like sake overflows their cups. The ones sung by a blind biwa player are especially good and detailed.

The songs glorifying himself Tahomaru tries not to listen, focusing on his sake and the narrow, ever so slightly freckled hands of Maeda’s daughter filling his cup, instead. Suddenly, he remembers those freckles. In their early childhood, even before Father brought Mutsu and Hyogo, they used to play together with her and other highborn children. Those were some stupid childish games with no thoughts of training or future duty… 

Tahomaru has never drunk sake before, save for the rare ceremonial occasions requiring no more than a gulp, so the sensations of dizziness feel new, yet unpleasantly remind him of the moment when he was lying on the floor of the burning castle, conscious but unable to rule his own body, unable to fight for his life nor take his sword to end it like a samurai. The sensation of death creeping slowly to take him away from all he loved, forever, was terrifying. But it was sweet at the same time. Tahomaru takes another gulp. The music continues to flow but he can’t make out the words; only a voice, slow and old, suddenly creaks through the haze all too near:

“At all times, there is something over which the indifference of stars and the eternal murmuring of rivers have no sway: it is the actions of a man who rebels against fate.” 

Tahomaru puts his cup down, shaking off the shivers spreading up his spine, and sees that blind biwa player sitting in the shadows next to him. Facing the emptiness, he seems to address no particular person, yet Tahomaru can sense the intent, lingering non-stare on him.

“All three of you are similar in that way, don’t you think so, young lord? Don’t be afraid of songs: they are to move people’s hearts; for the heart that is still is as well as dead.”

The man is gone into the night before Tahomaru even processes his words. All _three_ of them?

Rebelling against fate…

The delicate hands with freckles fill his cup anew and disappear into the fog just like the strange blind man did before. The mournful songs about the Battle by The Two Pines are sung next. Tahomaru rises, struggling to order himself, and notices Maeda Masahiro who is seated with his back straight, an empty cup clenched in his trembling hands. His face is set, firm like a stone.

Tahomaru kneels beside the old man and refills his cup.

“You have lost someone by The Two Pines, too,” he deduces with a heavy heart. “Who was that?”

The samurai flinches. “My son Masashi, lord,” he says with restraint, his eyes downcast almost apologetically. “But do not be sorry: he wasn’t even supposed to be there. He was only fourteen. He chose it himself, against my will, as he saw all those villagers being recruited to defend our land against the Asakura invasion. ‘How can I stay behind when even the peasants who have never held a sword must fight?’ he said to his mother and sister when leaving. He wasn’t killed by your brother. His body was scorched by the fire of that demonic horse.”

Tahomaru closes his eye, feeling a lump forming in his throat. That is barely an excuse. Yet Maeda does that. He tries to absolve his brother, his future lord, the one who has caused the death of his last heir…

He could have hidden Lord Kagemitsu’s last will. He could have pretended those words had never been spoken by his dying suzerain. He could have just taken the rule into his hands and sent the troops to kill Hyakkimaru, not to invite him to this castle. Was it an unwavering loyalty or something more?

“…But I cannot complain about such a fate,” contradicting his words, tears are swelling in the old warrior’s eyes. “Should it not have been for your brother’s sacrifice, he might have never been born at all, for I might have fallen in a battle or died another death a long time ago. I must _thank_ your brother for giving us those years spent together. I could never imagine, after my first wife and my eldest sons had died, that I would be blessed with another happiness. You have said that no people outside your family deserved a divine punishment, my lord, but you are wrong. We all were a part of that deal, knowingly or not. We all have been living on the borrowed time. If it was our karma to die long ago or never be born, then the demons only postponed it, and now, we have gotten it back. This is how the world is. It cannot be helped. This is his sister that I am concerned about now,” he halts, realizing he was carried away.

“What is it? Speak it,” Tahomaru demands. He turns his head around but can’t see the girl anymore. She must have left some time ago…

“Yes, lord,” Maeda obeys. “She had lost not only her brother but the fiancé, too, in that battle, and upon learning it she tried to kill herself. The gods spared her life, but it seems like the scar on her neck made her even sadder. I suppose she believes that nobody will love her anymore. Her mother never leaves her side to make sure she doesn’t commit such an act again.”

A cold hollowness tugs at Tahomaru’s chest. He hasn’t noticed that scar; to be honest, he didn’t even look at the girl’s face, nor does he remember her name. But for this man who has lost all his children, she is the only treasure remaining on this earth, and the fear that fate may claim her as well must never leave his mind…

“Say her she must not worry. Any samurai will be glad to take such a brave and loyal girl as his wife,” Tahomaru says uneasily. “But first, let the scars heal. She must have loved that man dearly to do that…”

“Thank you, my lord. I will pass her your words.”

After that, they drink in silence some more, Tahomaru’s mind circling Maeda’s words round and round. _Shouldn’t they have existed in the first place? Should they have never been born?_ was what he wondered the day he accepted the demon’s power. The answer is lying around the walls of this castle: the ashes of the dead villages and the fields of unburied corpses; the hills disfigured by the landslides; the houses swamped to the roofs by the mud of floods. As if a giant string that had been held all those years by an invisible hand, strained, trembling on the edge but never breaking, was suddenly released…

The darkness beyond the illuminated terraces is pitch-black, measureless like the boundary world he saw with the demon’s vision; only now, he can see no light of souls no matter how long he stares into the night. Is Father’s soul still there, or have the depths of Hell already swallowed him? The dark wind blowing in his face smells like a void. The corridors of the unfamiliar castle seem like some cryptic maze, and there is no Furi to guide him to his new rooms. She said she would become a shadow, and there are plenty of shadows surrounding him, yet none seems familiar. Tahomaru closes his eye and wishes to find himself in the small room of the rundown house, where Mother is sitting by the fire with a sewing on her lap, and Sensei is telling him stories about distant lands…

_“This is not about our feelings. This is about some detail being out of its place.”_

Is his place really here?

“Lord, the night is cold. Let me guide you back to your rooms,” an old voice says, but it isn’t Sensei since he never called him like this. Why do they call him like this? He’s not the ruler. He’s just lost, and he wants to his room.

Ah, he’s being carried already on someone’s back. Hyogo used to carry him like this when he would fall asleep in the dojo, exhausted after the hours of sword practice. He presses his face to the warm nape, feeling cozy and small. How old is he? He never allowed himself such a weakness ever since Mutsu had told him all the truth about the war that they had witnessed, so he must be six. Maybe seven.

“Forgive me for arguing with you all the time, lord,” the voice says once the way through the maze is over, and he is laid onto the swaying deck. Why is he on a ship? “I am old and can’t feel the flow of life as clearly as you anymore. This land is blessed to have you, and I believe you will make it flourish once again. I will trust your decisions.”

“Do not be sorry,” Tahomaru mutters, his tongue wobbly but his mind finally clear, even though the sleep is quickly taking over him. “I need you to argue with me, Maeda-san. How can you trust me when I do not trust myself? I need my brother… I want him to be here with me…” these last words he must be uttering already in his dream, for there are cozy walls of his old room surrounding him, and it seems like gentle shadows are shifting his body, undressing him and covering with warm, soft darkness. His body feels so small under the blanket. Tahomaru turns his head. There is another futon beside his with a head lying still on the pillow, the dark hair flowing like a silky stream onto the sheets. He whispers “ _Aniue_ ” softly but gets no answer. Then, he crawls over, takes out a little inkwell he hid in his under-kimono after the lessons, and starts drawing mustaches on his brother’s serene face. Hyakkimaru keeps breathing long and steadily, so Tahomaru adds whiskers like Hyogo’s, and then paints his eyebrows long and bushy like his own. He can’t say whether his brother really is asleep or faking it, allowing him this little mischief. Tahomaru feels butterflies in his chest. He knows that Umeko will scold him again in the morning…

~

Tahomaru wakes up to the cruel headache, wondering what the hell happened yesterday and whether there is another wound on his head left in another unfortunate fight with his brother. He can feel no bandage, though. Once he sits up, his memory belatedly catches with reality. The room looks almost too familiar, but the view behind the sliding doors is different. His garments are there, too, on the stand where they would usually be, but these are new garments: twilight-grey hakama pants; a rich and austere dark-blue kimono embroidered with the family crests; a black haori with a silver lining—all this is probably from his grandfather’s heritage. It looks like a random piece of night that outstayed its time, left forgotten amidst the bright light of the morning. Furi isn’t here to help him dress up, and the breakfast is already served on the sunlit terrace, tea steaming as if it were prepared just a moment ago, though there wasn’t even a shadow that Tahomaru’s eye could catch. That’s some ninja skills…

It fills him with relief. Facing the past requires all his resolve, which is very inconvenient when there are too many urgent matters at hand. It is not the time to think about such things. Except for the aching head, Tahomaru doesn’t feel very much alive anyway. But this is all right this way. This is fine. He is a detail in a mechanism. He has a duty to fulfill, or rather a function. Probably it is the only reason why he still lingers here, while all that was brought thanks to the deal has already been erased from this earth…

Umeko appears in Furi’s stead to help him through his morning routine. It has been almost a year since she last took care of him like this, combing his hair and tying all his hakama knots; and it has been a year of walking further and further down the path of hell. Would he have acted the same, Tahomaru wonders now, if his wet nurse had stayed close to him, scolding him routinely for skipping breakfast or staying up late at night over _The Art of War_ treatise, sighing with that frustration in her warm, attentive eyes?

“How is your back pain now?” Tahomaru asks, noticing a lot of new silver strands in the woman’s long hair. She is only a few years older than his mother, and her soft, plain face is still smooth, but there are dozens of tiny wrinkles around her eyes and between her eyebrows, carved by all the worries.

“It is perfectly fine and strong as ever, my lord,” Umeko smiles, her eyes, still red from crying, squeezed with mirth. “I am only growing old, but look at you, what a sight you’ve become. If only time could have mercy and wait for a bit longer: I’ll miss the sight of these wild locks.”

Tahomaru feels a knot fastening in the pit of his stomach at her quiet sigh. Soon, he will receive the cap of an adult along with a new name replacing his childhood one. Who will choose it for him? Who will lead him through the genpuku ceremony and cut off the tips of his hair? Somehow, the thought itself feels bizarre and distant as though it were one of those odd Outlanders’ rituals, not a major event of every youth’s life…

“Time _will_ wait, Umeko-chan,” he says, holding the woman’s back as he helps her to rise. _It must wait until I find him._ “There are more urgent matters to take care of first.”

Tahomaru puts on the haori over his rich dark garments, thinking that they would have suited his brother better, and walks out into the light of day.

~

The name appears in his memory as soon as Tahomaru looks at her face: Setsuna. It might have been brought up yesterday, during the talk with her father, or may be his mind extracted it from his childhood memories this very instant. Tahomaru hums: _an instant, a tiny speck of time_ is the meaning of her name. Now, it must seem like an unfortunate jinx to her parents constantly worrying about her life. The girl stands in the gallery of the castle wall, watching the sea, her expression remote and detached as if she were just waiting for something. And indeed, noticing him, she immediately approaches.

Her fine, chiseled face is pale except for the golden dust of freckles painting the straight nose and the cheeks; the long hair of rare brown, shining like copper, flows smoothly down her misty-blue kimono. Her eyes are filled with sunlight, so bright that the color disappears.

The scar tracing her neck from the ear to the collarbone is long and very distinct, but she isn’t trying to conceal it. Her head is held high as she approaches him.

“Father has passed me your words, Tahomaru-sama. Thank you very much,” Setsuna says with a bow, her voice as well as her white face devoid of any emotion. But when she looks up at him, a sudden strength flashes in her eyes: “But he is mistaken: my fate does not concern me, nor am I bothered about marriages.”

“Then what is concerning you, my lady?” Tahomaru asks, taken aback.

“Acceptance. I do not agree with the nonsense my father says about karma. I will never embrace it.”

Those bright eyes seem the only living feature on her cold, still face. There is ire, and also an adamant resolve in them. Tahomaru can’t help but shiver internally. If Furi is a gentle night of spring, Setsuna is a cold, severely cold winter morning. He doesn’t remember her being like that. He vaguely recalls the cheerful girl laughing with her mouth wide, the girl whose eyes filled with sun were warm. But the time has changed them all.

“We cannot rewrite the past,” he tries as if stepping on thin ice. “Whether by fate or by an unfortunate lot, it was done and cannot be undone. We can only accept it and move ahead, keeping the warm memories of the ones whom we lost in our hearts.”

“There is nothing ahead for me, Tahomaru-sama. My brother has died, and my fiancé is dead, too,” Setsuna’s voice clank harshly as she lifts her chin even higher, and Tahomaru realizes that no words can reach her now. “I have been training with bow and naginata ever since I was little, as all Maeda women do: we must be able to defend the castle should the enemy enter it. But I regret complying with such a fate. Hiding behind the walls… Had I gone that day to the war alongside Masashi, I would have been spared the dishonor of living to witness my clan come to an end, and my home being inherited by the one who is responsible for that. The one who has _killed_ my beloved brother.”

Tahomaru nearly backs off from the dark desperation of her words. It takes all his strength to hold her gaze. He would have gladly given this castle to Maeda for eternal possession, but it was impossible under such circumstances, for he and his brother could not be homeless lords. No samurai would take seriously a refugee. But the construction of the new castle will take too much time and resources his domain can’t provide in the near future…

He bows shortly, not knowing what there is to say anymore that would be appropriate in his position and not demolish her pride.

But the girl doesn’t seem to expect anything from him. She has something more to say. “But now I know why I survived. To avenge them.” She doesn’t bother using honorifics any longer, and there is an open animosity in her voice: “You better order to execute me now; for I will never forgive your brother, Tahomaru. He shall not enter this castle for as long as I live, I swear it on the last Maeda blood still running in my veins.”

 _Either to kill or to be killed._ She is not going to live on, Tahomaru realizes. She is a pulled bow; a burning arrow placed on a string, ready to pierce the enemy and perish in ashes…

His heart gives a thud. Suddenly resurfacing from his memory, sending shivers across his shoulders, is the vision of a silent meadow under the bottomless sky, a rustle of grass and the breeze of quiet words: _“You gave me a_ new _image. An image of the future I wanted to strive for…”_

“So, what are you waiting for?” Setsuna’s harsh words rip through the memory. “Won’t you take the words of a woman seriously? Then you shall soon regret it—”

“Enough,” Tahomaru cuts her short. “I’ve heard enough. Now, listen to what I have to say. I know a better solution. You will become my wife.”

This one finally pierces through her defense. Setsuna recoils, her long eyebrows bent in indignation. “W-what?”

 _“That way you will be the mistress of this castle, and you won’t murder your brother-in-law,”_ Tahomaru wants to explain, excited by his own wit, before the realization of what he has done creeps into his mind.

Instead, he takes a step forward: “Or are my scars too frightful for you?”

Setsuna backs off, her hand reaching unconsciously to the scar on her own neck; her lips begin to quiver as if she really was terrified. The change in her demeanor is drastic. The sharp glints in her wide eyes are trembling like the ice that is ready to crack. Tahomaru isn’t certain whether he wants it or not.

The next moment, it happens. She drops her head, squeezing her eyes tightly, and whispers: “My lord…”

A chill runs down his spine as Tahomaru realizes that there is no turning back. He can’t take his word away. It won’t be fast, of course, since a year of mourning must pass. But it has to be done. This is right. This is the only way he can protect this girl, the last treasure of the man who has done so much for his family, from her doom.

A sudden commotion behind causes him to turn around: a group of samurai, Maeda in the head, is rushing to him down the gallery.

“Grave news, lord!” Maeda says, short of breath. “A messenger arrived from the western border: Imagawa Yoshinori refuses to believe that you are alive, considering it to be a trick on my part. He proclaimed himself the ruler of the domain!”

Tahomaru’s heart falls. Somehow, he had expected something like that. And indeed, the worst happened.

“He only uses it as an excuse!” Shimura, an old chief of guard Tahomaru has inherited from his father, boils with indignation. “That treacherous fox just wants to grab the land!” 

“But why?” Saito Hajime, commander of cavalry, wonders. “He has no heirs left, and there are not even many men under his command. Has the old man gone mad because of his grief?”

“How many men does he have?” Tahomaru asks.

“One hundred samurai, most of them his direct vassals, and about twice as much _ashigaru_ foot soldiers, at best,” Maeda replies.

Tahomaru arches his eyebrow. “Then the only chance for him is to side with Asakura.”

“I’m afraid it may be exactly the case, lord.”

Tahomaru closes his eye and slowly draws in the air. It smells so sweetly of the spring. Another spring that will be stained with human blood. _“Someday, you will create the peaceful land of Daigo.”_ Is it even possible to achieve in this world? Tahomaru envisions the small house where he was blissfully serene; where he didn’t have to kill his heart every day, routinely pushing each sentiment away as he would wake up; where he led a simple life, fishing and learning crafts, feeding stray cats and taking care of plants. The house where Mother called him _“my son”_ for the first time. Only three days have passed since he left it, yet here he is now, wondering whether all that was even real, and whether those house and village exist somewhere beyond his mind…

He exhales and opens his eye. Even if not, he still has them.

“Gather the army,” Tahomaru commands. “Lead it to The Two Pines. I shall meet you there on the third day.”

An excited commotion shakes up the group of samurai. It is not a happy excitement, but rather a familiar heat of the only work they are accustomed to, the only path they know. Once but a one course of action remains open, everything becomes right and clear even in the times of chaos.

“But lord, where are _you_ going?” Maeda asks in surprise.

“I must visit the village down the river nearby, the one that Mother described. There may be those who know of my brother’s whereabouts.”

“Lord, is it the time for that?” Maeda argues. “We can search for Hyakkimaru-sama later, once the matter with Imagawa is settled.”

“Must we not put the late lord’s last will before everything else?” Tahomaru retorts, his gaze heavy. “I believe you can manage the preparations without me being present for a couple of days.”

Maeda purses his lips, shamed, yet still objects, “I can’t let you travel alone, lord. That area is controlled by the _Ikki_ , a group of rebellious peasants, whom we haven’t yet brought to obey. I shall charge the troop of at least thirty finest samurai to accompany you; no, I myself will go with you,” Maeda says firmly. “Saito, have the army ready by The Two Pines. You’ve heard Lord Tahomaru’s order.”

“Yes, sir,” the samurai bows shortly.

“Send somebody for Lord Takenaga, he must still be here,” Tahomaru adds. “I will need his forces deployed by Shibayama Lagoon, on the high southern shore, and be ready to advance should the reinforcements be needed.” His mother’s cousin, Awazu Takenaga, became the head of his clan not so long ago, and even though there had been little amity between him and Lord Kagemitsu in the past, he seemed genuinely glad yesterday to see Tahomaru alive. “At least five hundred should stay here. Great River Castle is too vulnerable from the north as well as from the east: the mountain passes are within a day’s reach.”

“Lord?” Maeda gives him a surprised look. “Miwa clan has been our good neighbor for generations. As for Hatakeyama on the east, they are weakened now by internal conflict for the succession. There is no need for such a reinforcement. You must take as much samurai as you can afford to the Daishoji fortress so as to bring Imagawa to his senses without even engaging in a needless battle.”

“Old alliances may vanish in the blink of an eye, as we could see. I will not leave this castle exposed,” Tahomaru says with finality.

“Yes, lord.”

His counsellor will argue with him till he is blue in the face, but once the lord has made the decision, proceeding with it is the only path.

Setsuna is still there when Tahomaru turns around. Her face is pale, and her eyes are clouded with a deep shadow. Yet again, she is being left behind within the walls of this castle, watching men go to war. Tahomaru shortly bows to her, wordless, and proceeds to get ready for the depart.

 _“In this world, you either kill or are killed”_ , Father would say. But his brother showed him a third way that day. The way of mercy and understanding. Putting on his armor once again, Tahomaru wonders whether he can be strong enough to take that path, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, it was a story in itself how i tried to disclose the exact geography of Dororo to come up with the locations for this fic and clarify how much land Daigo actually possessed. It is said it takes place in Ishikawa, but the thing is the present Ishikawa Prefecture is actually the former Kaga Province, and Daigo was a vassal to the Governor (Shugo) of Kaga. So, his Ishikawa was only a part of the current Ishikawa. Eventually, detecting the few real locations mentioned in the anime, i connected the dots and came up with the most suitable location, or so i believe. It mostly overlaps with the former Daishoji Domain (historically, quite an unfortunate one, btw) at the southern border of Kaga. I could write a lot about all this, since it was a fascinating virtual journey, but what is sufficient to know is that the Daigo domain i describe is about 23 km long and 25 km wide, which is a bit farther to the North than the border of the Daishoji Domain was, but even that small an area, that you could cross in about a day, consisted of ~150 villages at the time (most of them tiny, though). It should give you the idea. Castles mentioned here are also correspond with the ruins of the castles located in this area (most of them were later destroyed by Tokugawa Shogunate under the policy of “One Domain - One Castle”).
> 
> Other notes:  
> \- Daigo だいご in “Dororo” is spelled as 醍醐, which means, according to the dictionary: the Ultimate Truth of Buddhism; nirvana.  
> \- Biwa's line “At all times, there is something over which the indifference of stars and the eternal murmuring of rivers have no sway: it is the actions of a man who rebels against fate” – is a slightly remixed quote of André Malraux, which originally goes like this: “Il n'est qu'un acte sur lequel ne prévalent ni l'indifférence des constellations ni le murmure éternel des fleuves: c'est l'acte par lequel l'homme arrache quelque chose à la mort.”


	3. The story of Ikki

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tahomaru meets Dororo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, the two whose dynamics i love so much in almost any possible version of it! Hyakkimaru's part of the story will follow in the next chapter.

The sun was slowly sinking down behind the bodies of the dead and the dying, a humongous red ball that had a hard time squeezing its overstuffed belly into the underworld, having soaked too much blood. There was no light in that sun—it could not rip through the clouds of bitter smoke. Only the color of blood seeped through. The whole sky above him was overflowed with it.

A black raven was hovering over his head, cutting through the last rays of sunset in a wide circle, its eye set on the tasty piece. _Not yet,_ he thought. _Stupid, do you not see I am still alive? Soon, you will have me. Soon, you will peck my eyes and rip the flesh off my bones. Soon._

_…Fly then to her, sit on her terrace. In place of the white dove with a letter on its leg, she will see you, a black messenger of Death, and understand at once that I married another. On the field, among the fuming autumn grass, She has received my vows, and I will be constant to Her._

The raven cawed and went for another circle. It could let itself be patient. There were voices all around, voices of torment. Of fury. Of desperation. The last sounds of life, faint and enraged, long and short, were falling from the lips that moment later would freeze forever, pale masks of anguish and pain.

A samurai lying next to him, his leg cut off, his body half-burnt, looked up into his eyes. He did not wail anymore. He just smiled at him, his eyes clear, as if the pain had no power over him anymore. Who was that samurai? Maybe they knew each other. He could not remember.

What was his own name again? Ah. He hadn’t even had one. Just a number. _The third one._

He closed his eyes, feeling his blood trickling away and down, down into this soil, mixing with the blood of the others into one terrible flood of red. Will it revive this scorched desert?

...He knew it would not. It was only the beginning. It would get worse. He saw it. There were thousands of colors blowing in the wind, tens of tens of thousands. There were corpses covering the land, air above them black from the swarming crows. There were flames devouring temples and palaces, villages and towns. There were flashes and roar produced by the _guns_ , something he had only heard in the stories of distant shores. Guns held by the hands of samurai. He wished he could tell her. She would have believed him, she always had. They used to think that those visions were important, that they were meant to change something. But it turned out they were vain. He smiled. Every being tends to think that its life has some profound meaning, but in the end, existence is just that—vanity.

“Those images are not real,” a low and deep voice intruded into his mind, like distant rolls of thunder. “And they may never be.”

 _Oh, but they will,_ he wanted to answer, yet it was already too late to voice anything. He was drifting into darkness, his body fettered by the chains of the quiet marriage. He looked at the sun but saw only black smoke. He gulped the water of rivers dyed in red. He died a million deaths, each of them more agonizing than this one. He barely sensed the pain of the wounds that covered his own body—because the pains of others were immeasurably _above_ everything else.

…Yet he did recognize a tiny, almost gentle, prick in his arm, just below the elbow.

“‘What was the point of my birth if I end up like this, a nameless corps among the hundreds of others ground up by a senseless strife of a tiny domain?’ is what you think, I guess,” the voice grew louder while the wailings faded, and the darkness began to slowly shift. As if being washed away by the tide…

_Why? Is it… releasing him?_

“I collected this blood from those around you who were still alive. There will be more. Wait.”

The voice and the sound of steps moved away in the new silence surrounding him.

He felt a touch: the nameless samurai, exerting a last effort, reached out to drop some tiny object onto his palm. Clenching his fingers over it instinctively, The Third One looked up into his eyes, only to see them slowly closing, the last sparks of life fading away. Their bodies were connected with a thin straw, arm to arm.

The raven dipped and sat onto the samurai’s bloody mess of a chest.

_Why?_

He asked that once the steps returned, and another portion of blood was inserted into his vein. _A nameless blood._ How fitting for him… His voice regained the sound as the last strength of others revived his body further, bit by bit:

“Why… me?”

“Why not?” the voice countered. “I sensed a thirsty soul in you, a soul of an outcast. I know it too well. Now, gather yourself and rise. Your path has only just begun.”

## ~ The story of Ikki ~

The sun shines high in the cerulean sky when they leave Great River Castle to the direction of a lone mountain looming like a mournful shadow over the southern horizon. Tahomaru pulls the reins, halting on the high riverbank before the bridge, struck by the scenery. Long years will pass before life returns to its slopes. But their descendants will never do. The place that was once his home is now forever cursed, defiled by the beast of Hell that was invited there by no other than Tahomaru himself.

Maeda Masahiro waits patiently by his side, having ordered the samurai to check the way ahead, even though they are yet to step into the rebellious area. Tahomaru spurs to resume his ride, but his steed balks, whinnying loudly.

“What’s the matter with this horse?” Maeda frowns. “I will order to bring you another one, lord.”

“No need. This is a fine horse. I was just too harsh on him, I suppose.”

Maeda eyes him keenly, “You were not. But your mind must be in disturbance because of all the troubles. The horse feels it.”

Tahomaru purses his lips, saying nothing. His mind is not calm, true; but it has nothing to do with the troubles. This is foolish, but lately he has developed this weird aversion to horses. Or maybe not so weird, considering he still has those nightmares… Still, it is too foolish and unfair to the noble creatures, Tahomaru thinks with self-reproach. He shivers internally, forcing himself to caress his steed’s neck soothingly.

“Asakura suffered terrible losses in the autumn campaign, too,” Maeda says, misinterpreting Tahomaru’s anxiety. “It would be a wild gamble on his part to make a move now, at the break of the sowing season. That man is greedy, but he is not insane.”

“Asakura may have nothing to do with Imagawa’s rebellion,” Tahomaru shrugs. “It was but an assumption of ours. For all we know, Imagawa could have really gone insane; or he may have something up his sleeve that we have no idea about. For now, guessing his reasoning is pointless.”

“You are right, lord. In either case, the traitor’s reasons are of no importance.” Setting his mouth tight, Maeda turns back to cast a look at the castle. From here, it looks like another light cloud flowing over the horizon. A shadow darkens his eyes.

“Don’t worry, Maeda-san,” Tahomaru says, intercepting his glance. “I spoke with your daughter this morning. I believe she will be fine. She has a strong will.”

“Lord…” his advisor’s voice catches with emotion. “I am sorry for troubling you with this small matter.”

Tahomaru shakes his head. No man should witness all his children, every last of them, die. And Setsuna was seeking death, not revenge. Or else she wouldn’t have revealed her intentions to him in the first place. She would have rather kept a low profile until the opportunity came, or hired a ninja to find and quietly assassinate her sworn enemy, maintaining a humble and fragile image, as noble ladies would do—that is if avenging her brother and fiancé had truly been her intention.

But was it really death she was seeking, Tahomaru wonders now. She could have killed herself plenty of times. Instead, she confronted him as though in the last desperate attempt to find some ground in the flood of darkness that had engulfed her. A cold and resolute samurai daughter—or a lost, scared young girl hoping for someone to lend her a hand, too proud to even realize it? 

“Who was her fiancé, by the way?” Tahomaru wonders out loud, realizing he never asked that before. “Was it arranged or by her own will?”

“It was Imagawa’s third son, Taizo, my lord,” Maeda says, causing Tahomaru to flinch. “They were close friends since their childhood, and although not much could be said about his martial skills or bravery in a battle, for he was a rather mellow young man, I thought it was better to let the heart choose. All I wanted for my daughter is to be happy.”

Tahomaru nods bitterly. He has almost no clear memories of that guy, so Taizo probably was no match for him in the dojo, indeed. He remembers his elder brothers Yoshimitsu and Yoshiaki, though: they were strong and skilled warriors, but eventually Tahomaru surpassed them as well.

He frowns, “This is an unfortunate development, then. You were almost a family, and still Imagawa has turned his back on you without a second thought.”

“I have known Imagawa Yoshinori ever since his teens,” Maeda confirms. “He had always been a man of honor. I could foresee him oppose the lord’s choice of heir for the obvious reasons, since he cherished his elder sons above everything, and he isn’t the one to forget a grudge, not even for our longstanding comradery. Truth be told, prior to your return, I was prepared for him to move against me and those loyal to the rightful heir upon learning of Lord Kagemitsu’s decision. That is why I delayed announcing it. But I cannot imagine what made him go as far as to betray _you_ , lord, and with that cheap excuse too. He had never shown any signs of a plotting mind, nor of nourishing ambitions above his status.”

“So, the only reason for Imagawa to go up against you could have been your decision to support my brother,” Tahomaru clarifies, “and he knew nothing about it. Or at least, wasn’t supposed to. Who else have been informed of my father’s last will?”

“Senior generals Saito and Shimura, and Takajo Suehiro the chamberlain,” Maeda replies slowly, a cold gleam of suspicion appearing in his eyes. 

_Not just them. There was another one_. _The one harboring the same vengeful feelings._ Tahomaru suppresses the thought.

“Let us not jump into conclusions for now,” he says in haste to call off the subject he has so incautiously raised. “Imagawa could still have some other motive.”

“I do hope, though vain it may be, that he will come to his senses once he sees you with his own eyes. Maybe then, he will have the decency to put an end to his madness like a true samurai should.”

Which means _seppuku_. Tahomaru sighs. He doesn’t need another pointless death. But it may be an inevitable result: he might have reached out to a girl who is only beginning to live, but there is not much that could be done for an elderly man who has lost everything and now is treading a straight path to his grave.

“Maeda-san, I have a matter to discuss with you once we return to the castle,” Tahomaru says with a sense of unease. He is yet to ask for Setsuna’s hand properly. He has shown her an alternate path, but will she really follow it through? _“To let the heart choose…”_ What does he have to offer her beyond the survival, he questions himself yet again, but his mind is rippling with uncertainty, and a stiff detail in his chest offers no response.

“Yes, lord.”

“Let us not waste any more time,” chasing the thought away for the time being, Tahomaru takes the reins and turns away— when suddenly catches some movement with the corner of his eye. He looks back swiftly, cursing the blind spot in his vision. But nobody is there. The road behind them is empty, and so is the open pine wood by its side, pierced through by the pearly rays of the sun.

The air is serene. The singing of birds is undisturbed. Tahomaru takes a deep breath, calming his heart.

Of course, nobody is there. 

Sometimes he will still imagine shadows following his steps closely. But they have gone now far ahead of him, to the dark void from which there is no returning…

“What is it, lord?”

“It’s nothing. Just a rustle of wind, perhaps,” without another word, Tahomaru spurs his horse forward.

~

“Is it really the _Ikki_ village?” Maeda says in utter amazement, shielding his eyes with his hand against the sun to overlook the high wooden wall. “I don’t remember ever seeing it. Was it even there before?”

“It was,” Tahomaru nods, watching the commotion on the wall. “But certainly not like this.”

“Samurai are coming!” the cries can be heard. “I’ve told you! The Daigo samurai!”

In a moment, a group of men rises to the wall, each of them holding a long spear or a bow.

“What do you need here?” shouts one of them. “Leave or be shot!”

“Indeed, it was too reckless not to put on your helmet, lord,” Maeda reprimands him quietly. “We are too close. Please, stay back.”

“We shall not harm you!” Tahomaru rides forward, ignoring Maeda’s suppressed grumbling. “You all are the people of Daigo, the ones whom I, Tahomaru, son of Daigo Kagemitsu, has sworn to protect to the last drop of my blood!”

“Not anymore!” the spearman says, regarding him from the wall with a cold expression. “Now, we’re free people, and we ain’t belong to no samurai clan!”

“We don’t trust samurai! Nothing good comes from samurai!” another one shouts, pointing a spear at him.

“Besides, the heir of Daigo is dead and has been dead for like three months now!” the first man adds. “That’s why the samurai are about to fight for this land. You won’t lure us into obeying with such a cheap trick, impostor!”

“If you want this land, then try to take it from us!” the spears tilt his way, and in the loopholes, Tahomaru can see the archers pulling their bows. Just how did they manage to rebuild and reinforce this village in this short time? These people are amazing!

“How dare you pretend not recognizing the Lord, you worm?” meanwhile, Maeda roars with his most menacing combat voice, riding forward to shield Tahomaru from any possible threat. “Lower yourself to your proper level and clear the way!”

Tahomaru raises his hand to stop the bickering. “You have a reason not to believe my words. But there must be someone who knows me by face. Is the child named Dororo here?”

By the commotion among the men Tahomaru can say that the said child is here indeed.

“…I said let me out! Open the gates, dammit! Yahiko! Jiheita! Come ‘ere, tell those dumbasses to open the freaking gates!” the yelling mixed with swearing echoes from the wall, followed by some unintelligible arguing. “Oh, the hell with you! I’m jumping then!” The next moment, one of the archers is kicked and pushed aside, and Tahomaru sees a kid springing up and climbing over the battlements. Dororo’s eyes are huge and round like bowls of berries as she goggles at him in disbelief. “It’s really you!”

Tahomaru’s heart skips a beat when Dororo, completely ignoring the height, literally leaps from the wall. She seems fine though when she rolls over and rushes down the embankment.

Tahomaru stills his men, raising his hand, and dismounts.

“You’re alive!” Dororo nearly knocks him down, jumping up on him like a little monkey, and hugs him with fierce desperation. The next moment there is a punch followed by the drumming of the little fists against his armor as she bawls, tears streaming down her cheeks: “Where the heck have you been all this time?! Bro blamed himself for your death so much, can you even imagine how tough it was for him?!”

Tahomaru chokes on his breath. “He did?” 

“ _Of course_ he fucking did, you stupid jerk! That was more words than I’ve ever heard from him! _‘We could’ve made it together, I must’ve grabbed him at once, if I only wasn’t so slow, those eyes were so inconvenient—’_ Why?? Why the hell you…” she squeezes her eyes tightly, tears spattering on his cuirass, and delivers him yet another pointless punch.

Tahomaru can’t find the words to say, overwhelmed. It sounds so unlike Hyakkimaru… But then again, does he even know his brother as he really is? 

“If only he knew… if only he knew that you’re alive… maybe he wouldn’t have left… wouldn’t blame himself for everything… wouldn’t suffer so much…” At last, she trails off and stops punching him, her hands all bruised, and just stills like this, pressed to his chest.

“Dororo!”

They both flinch and look up as three other men appear on the wall.

“It’s him indeed!” exclaims the one in the middle, a tall and bony man in a brown monk’s robe.

“Tahomaru-sama! Unbelievable!” another man, shorter but stronger in his building, adds. Tahomaru recognizes his face: he was in the starving village with a child on his arms, begging for food. It was this man who beheld his vow to all the people of the Daigo land: _“I will never forsake you.”_

“I recognize you, too, although you have less eyes now!” the youngest of the three shouts. “But why did you come here with an army?”

Tahomaru glances over his shoulder at his “small escort” of thirty fiercest samurai on their warhorses, all clad in armor, eyes glaring grimly from within the shadows of their helmets and hands clenching their bows. He curses under his breath.

“Why, indeed?” the tall monk in the middle rejoins. “Keep the gates closed!”

“Arrgh, stop it already, Doushu! Yahiko, tell him!” Dororo loses her patience. “He’s told you they won’t harm us! Let them in!”

Dororo must have some real weight among these men: they contemplate her words seriously.

“But are you certain that we can trust them?” Doushu asks.

Again, Tahomaru has to wave his hand slightly to calm the angry uproar arising behind him: “How dare they doubt the lord’s word!”

“Yes, I am,” Dororo says firmly, her hands on her hips.

“Ugh, I don’t like it!” the youngest persists, clenching his fists.

Yahiko pats him on the shoulder, “Calm down, Jiheita. As for me, I trust you too, Lord Tahomaru. I will never forget your words that day. I know that you care for your people sincerely. You were fighting your own brother to defend our land… This is some tough decision to make.”

“Yahiko! We’re not _his_ people anymore!”

“Sure, Ji, but we _were_ back then…”

“Alright. We will trust you, Tahomaru-sama, and may we not regret it,” Doushu, probably the head of the village, decides at length. “Open the gates!”

~

“The boy who was with you back then… Sakichi… Was it your son? Is he alright now?” is the first thing Tahomaru asks once they are allowed into the village, and everyone gathers in the main hall of the shrine for sharing the meal and the discussion. This village is not ruled by one chief, Tahomaru learns. There is a council of about two dozen men, the most experienced and trusted ones as well as the most young and ardent, who decide on every matter by finding a common agreement. What is peculiar is that Dororo is among them, too.

The man, Yahiko, seems taken aback for a moment by his question, as if surprised that Tahomaru even remembered that.

“Yes… Thank you for your concern, Tahomaru-sama. It wasn’t my son; I was only taking care of him those days, since his parents had died earlier. But he’s alright now: his relatives from another village took him in.”

“Good,” Tahomaru sighs with relief. “Thank you for not abandoning him.”

“No… it’s nothing. Thank you for your help back then, Tahomaru-sama,” Yahiko bows.

The other villagers do not seem as friendly. Their eyes are dark with distrust as they glance at the samurai, some of them tensed with the fear imprinted deep into their hearts, others with an old animosity. The samurai, though, hold themselves with such a calm and a solemn restraint as if they were readying their spirits for committing seppuku; for their lord’s order to lower themselves to these rebellious peasants’ level requires no lesser resolve than the ritual suicide, or even a stronger one. And who can guarantee that there are only peasants among this unruly crowd, they wonder, and not some despicable outcasts—butchers, tanners, undertakers? Woe, then, to them for sharing the roof and the meal with the unclean! But loyalty to death is the only way of samurai. Their spirits will be cleansed from all the impurity by their blood they will spill someday for their lord, the one who didn’t hesitate to descend to Hell itself for the sake of his people, and who was purified in the fiery storm that left no trace on his body…

Shimura, the chief of guard, lowers his gaze in shame, his eyes watering. In the days of past, such a hideousness would never even have occurred. The accursed village would have been burnt down, with the heads of the rebels put above the ashes, up to the last woman and child, as a fair retribution for this outrageous defiance. It is their, samurai’s, fault that their lord must suffer through the dishonor of this “meeting”. But maybe even more important than the lord’s honor is his duty to keep the society in order. No daimyo should defy the laws of his honorable predecessors, which, established long ago, hold the world from falling into chaos. And yet, they have grown so weak that the events like this became possible. He struggles to not let the tear escape his eye, grimacing fiercely.

“What is it, Shimura?” Tahomaru raises his eyebrow, calm like a Zen monk.

“My lord…” are the only words the samurai can manage to squeeze out of his burning throat.

The lord shrugs in perplexity. Of course, he has no use for his pointless remorse…

“You did well to survive on your own,” Tahomaru raises his voice, facing the villagers. “Thank you for your hard work in such perilous times. From now on, I shall take care of you.”

“We don’t need to be taken care of, Lord Tahomaru,” Doushu retorts, his voice soft but his words harsh. “We won’t give up this freedom so many people have selflessly fought for. If you want peace, we will gladly live in peace with you. If you want war, we’ll fight. But we won’t belong to you anymore.”

The samurai fall silent, tensing, placing their hands on the hilts of their swords. After words like these, there is bound to be at least one head sent flying over the tables. But the young lord stays calm, his brow furrowed in contemplation.

Dororo looks down and blushes, seemingly a bit guilty but at the same time incredibly proud of her comrades.

He was ready to die for these people, Tahomaru thinks. He almost did, more than once. But really, what difference does it make for them? What good has it brought them? They just want to live calmly on this land, working hard, farming rice and watching their children grow. An honest and simple way of living that has nothing to do with the ambitions of nobility or the code of honor of samurai. The way that he had the chance to try and comprehend himself. Once again, his thoughts drift to the calm village at the bend of the river where he was brought back to life.

“So be it,” Tahomaru decides. “I strive only for peace, so let us live as good neighbors on this land from now on.”

The villagers’ faces change. There are cheerful shouts, uncertain with disbelief at first, then loud and excited, followed by the toasts for the generous Lord and the free people, afterward. But only one voice resounds in Tahomaru’s ears, lingering like a sound of a lonely string:

_“Waka… You will create… the land of peace.”_

Tahomaru takes a long breath before looking down at Dororo by his side who is beaming at him happily. He returns that smile, his heart weightless in the void. _I will, even if it is no longer mine._

Not all the samurai seem pleased with this development: sharing the meal with peasants is a dishonor enough, but the lord giving them the core part of his ancestors’ land at their outrageous demand?! What blasphemy! Yet none dares to murmur. For now, they are still in high spirits upon his return from the dead, but for how long, Tahomaru wonders. Maeda on his right sips his drink, calm and imperturbable.

“What, you won’t argue with me on that matter, Maeda-san?” Tahomaru asks quietly.

“In these circumstances, this is a wise decision, Tahomaru-sama,” his counsellor says. “Their location within the domain makes us natural allies, and a good ally is better than a grudged subject. Most of the paddies here are devastated, so no taxes to help the other territories could be collected anyway. Letting them manage this village and the surrounding land will free your hands to take care of more urgent matters. I shall make sure that all your men understand that.”

“Thank you, Maeda-san.”

~

“I don’t like these news of another brewing war with Asakura, or whoever it is,” Doushu says once the parley is over, the samurai have quit, and Dororo has brought the young lord to show him “her” village. There are only three of them left in the meeting hall. “What should we do if they attack again? Shall we join forces with the Daigo or just stay here and defend our village?”

“Daigo, Asakura, Imagawa, another samurai clan… what difference will it make for us, ordinary people?” Jiheita shrugs, arms folded. “Why should we care who rules over there? It’s not like those are demons and these are deities; all them samurai are basically the same and want same things.”

“Jiheita, cut it!” Yahiko loses his calm. “Do you really want to try how it is with the Asakura samurai strolling outside these walls? I’m not that curious, thanks!”

“Tahomaru seems like a wise leader,” Doushu says, rubbing his chin. “As long as he rules, I suppose we can rest assured that no move will be made against us. Asakura or that Imagawa, though, aren’t likely to leave us at peace.”

“Right, fine, got it!” Jiheita waves him off impatiently. “My point is we’re peasants, not warriors, to be dragged into that war mess! Let them settle it between themselves.”

“We’re not warriors themselves, but we have hired enough of them to protect the village,” Doushu reasons. “We’ve bought and collected on the battlefields a lot of weapon. Besides, many of our people have been through the last war; they can fight. I hope it won’t be needed. But our village stands by the side of the plain most suited for a major battle, and at the mouth of the Daishojigawa River’s gorge, a roundabout route to this land. There was a reason why the Daigo had built their castle here, since from this place, they could control the southern part of the whole province. We can’t hope to be left alone should the enemy come this far.”

“Our walls are strong! We can hold any attack!”

“Okay, let’s not talk about it anymore for now,” Yahiko interferes. “We’ll see how the things unfold and then decide.”

“Yeah, I’m tired of all the talks today!” Jiheita stretches his back. “By the way, why did you lie to him, Yahiko? Why didn’t you tell him that the boy had died because his body was already too weak to take food by then?”

Yahiko sighs, sending him a frustrated glare, “Have you seen his eyes?”

“His eye, you mean.”

“Whatever. He’s burdened enough. He’s even younger than you and has to deal with the mess his father’s left on him. And yet he’s accepted all the responsibility on his shoulders. There’s no use to add yet another shadow to his nightmares.”

~

_“There are signs of others sneaking onto this cape, too. I believe it’s a band of brigands.”  
“No matter. Kill every human being who is_ _a threat to the peace of our people!”_

“So, this is why you were on that cape with all those people,” Tahomaru says, his own words cutting through his memories as if through a deep dark water. _“_ I see now.”

“Yup,” Dororo says lightly, folding her arms behind her head. Now, wearing a decent kimono with a trouser-like hakama, she looks a bit older and perhaps a bit taller, but her attitude has barely changed from that of half a year ago, when they first met by the lake. “We went there this December and took as much as we could, but it is hella heavy! And it’s too far away. So, there’s still lots of it in that cave. We’ll need to have another trip soon. We must help the other villages, too…”

Dororo won’t leave Tahomaru’s side for the rest of the day. She tours him around the village, showing proudly the fruits of her father’s treasure and everyone’s hard work, tells him so many things and showers him with so many questions, from the well-being of his mother to the details of administering the village budget, all the time squeezing his hand tightly, that Tahomaru has little space for wondering why. But he is genuinely surprised. Wasn’t he the one who attacked them multiple times, once even bringing a small army on five warships? The one who allowed to take her hostage? Isn’t she supposed to fear him, resent him, at the very least keep her guard, instead of spilling out proudly who her father was and where the money for rebuilding this village have come from? But there is not even a hint of animosity in her demeanor, and the way her slightly red eyes still shine, the way she shifts her look away yet clenches his hand as if in fear that he may vanish… Tahomaru begins to understand. She misses Hyakkimaru so much.

“You’re so alike,” Dororo blurts out, proving his guesses right, once they are in the stables: the day is declining, and it’s time for them to say farewell. She pats the neck of her gorgeous white horse, feeding him hay from her hand. Regulating his breathing, concentrating on nothing but her words, Tahomaru drives the gory images away. The colt has grown to be so much like his mother… Dororo’s cheeks are slightly blushed as she continues, oblivious to his uneasiness: “I’ve always seen it. I didn’t want you to fight. I tried to tell Bro many times, but he wouldn’t listen to me. He didn’t understand back then… that having family is so cool. Of course, he’s got me, but… when there’s someone who looks like you, whose blood is the same as yours… it’s the whole other deal. I know.”

“He did listen to you,” Tahomaru says. “After all, he was the one to spare me.”

“Yeah, I know. He’s told me everything. That you returned him the eyes, too… I thought it was so stupid and unfair that you had to die like that, after you’d reconciled and defeated the last demon together.” Her eyes begin to glisten once again as she adds: “Bro will be so happy to learn that you all are alive. We were searching you in the ruins for so long, you know, until the samurai and your dad appeared. I had to pull him away then… well, so that they wouldn’t meet each other. But we heard they’d been rummaging the place through and through for many days after that.”

Tahomaru bites his lip, trying not to focus on the images of his father searching for their bodies day and night, covered in his own blood, while they were safe and peaceful in a village a few hours away by water. He reminisces the late autumn in the humble house, the simple labor to put his mind in order, Mother’s gentle care and Sensei’s grounding presence. Tahomaru was defeated in a sense much deeper than the loss in a fight would go. It took him weeks and a lot of inner struggle to take his first full breath. It is no use to even regret now his inability to face the past sooner: regrets are only justified when you have chosen wrong. But if you were too weak to even make a choice, isn’t regret just a self-indulgent delusion?

“But what happened after that?” Tahomaru asks. “Why has he gone off on his own and where?”

“I don’t know, okay.” Dororo’s voice gets edgy as she rises to her feet, brushing the hay from her hands. “He left back then, in November, all alone, without even taking a sword. While I’m kinda glad he hasn’t, still, it’s dangerous out there!” she starts pacing the stable house anxiously. “What if there are ghouls left? He can’t even protect himself!”

“I believe he doesn’t really need a sword to protect himself,” Tahomaru hums, recalling his brother’s wild reflexes and strength.

“Okay, but he hasn’t even taken any warm clothes with him! It was freaking winter, and hella harsh too, and he had no idea about winters! That it’s cold and you must look for a shelter; and he can’t even hunt or spear a fish with his bare hands! And I haven’t taught him how to do a proper fishing—”

Tahomaru chuckles quietly.

Dororo stops pacing and sends him a glare, “What’s amusing?”

“You are overly protective. A woman must have some trust in her man.”

“W-what are you saying!” she chokes on her anger. “I’m not some stupid _woman!_ ”

“Yeah, you are not. But keep it up and someday, you will make a perfect wife.”

“C-cut it already!” Dororo’s cheeks are glowing red. “I’ve told you I’m not a— Wait, how did you even figure it out?”

“What, have you actually been trying to hide it? I thought you were just a tomboy. I’m sorry then.”

“I’m not a tomboy! You know shit about me!” she hisses, her eyes turning dark at once.

Tahomaru purses his lips, shamed. There is some curious strength about this girl, something that makes her seem older than she is and than she acts. She has seen a lot in her life, that is for certain, yet has managed to remain untouched by all the evil and filth. Tahomaru suddenly remembers what escaped his conscious mind at the battlefield, where they collided with his brother in their demonic powers: the crystal-clear light of the two small souls, one of a human and one of a colt, flickering madly in worry and pain. Hyakkimaru, just like the mother-horse, had turned himself into a nemesis and cut through the land of Daigo like a sword cuts through flesh, all for the sake of this girl. How could he, Tahomaru, assume that he knows anything about her, having no idea of their path together, of their struggles, of their bond?

“True, I do not,” he admits, softly. “Do you consider yourself to have been born in a woman’s body by mistake?”

“What?” Dororo looks at him, confused. “I don’t. I just— I’ve got to be strong to survive. Always had to.”

“You need not to be a man to be strong. There are women who are stronger than most of the men can ever hope to be. Trust me, I have known one of them.”

“So, she really was a girl!” Dororo exclaims. “I thought so! I just looked at her face and figured… it was so calm and beautiful.”

Tahomaru inhales sharply, shaken by a sudden jab in the pit of his stomach. He stiffens, quickly collecting himself.

Dororo glances at him cautiously. “If you want… I can show you their grave. We buried them near that place where you fought, down by the stream where the large stone is.”

“Please,” he replies, his voice gone at once.

~

The boulder is huge and smooth, polished by the swift water of the stream that runs down the slope. Its clear silver arms embrace the fallen piece of rock, unable to move it from the way, and thus forming a tiny island. About a dozen steps down the riverbed, the water arms find the chance to interlock again, reuniting. There, on the right bank by the confluence, a single grave is set.

Tahomaru holds his breath, touching the dark stone. They have always been together in life. Death, too, has failed to separate them…

_“The rock divides the stream in two,  
And both with might and main  
Go tumbling down the waterfall;  
But well I know the twain  
Will soon unite again”_

— he recites quietly.

Dororo gawks at him. “This is a pretty verse. Did you just compose it?”

“Of course not. Emperor Sutoku did, many generations ago. It is one of the hundred famous _tanka_ every child must learn by heart.” Mutsu had learned them all first, even faster than Tahomaru. She always strived to be the best, opting for swiftness and precision where she lacked physical strength, _“for how can I protect you if I am weaker than you?”_ Tahomaru did not want to be protected by her. He would have rather had it the other way around, but saying it would have been a deadly insult to her. In fact, he did try it once—

He clenches his teeth, cutting the thought abruptly. No point in reminiscing that. No point anymore…

“Well, I haven’t attended a school, so…” Dororo grumbles, trailing off, and puffs her cheeks. After a while, she asks hesitantly, “That emperor… did he write it about someone he was separated from? Did they meet after all?”

“It is unclear,” Tahomaru says. “Some consider this verse to be a simple observation of the nature, others say that it refers to the Buddha’s teaching about the unity of all things, or that it was a love poem. Or it may be, after all, that he was expressing his wish to return home and reclaim his throne; for even though Sutoku was the elder son of the emperor Toba, he was forced by his father to abdicate in favor of his younger brother,” Tahomaru pauses, feeling shivers creeping up his spine. Doesn’t this story sound familiar? His voice is tensed as he continues, “Eventually, Sutoku died in exile. He was said to have resented the court and became a vengeful spirit upon his death. Everything, from the subsequent fall in fortune of the Imperial court to droughts, calamities and internal unrests, was blamed on his haunting.”

“Oh, shit,” Dororo curses, “just like Bro. I bet he is blamed for everything now…”

“No one blames him,” Tahomaru asserts. “As no one will ever banish him from this land for as long as I live. I will find him. You will unite again.” He steps away from the grave and bows low to the little girl before him. “Thank you for burying them. I am forever indebted to you.”

“W-what,” Dororo waves her hands in a fervent embarrassment, “d-don’t mention it! I did nothing anyway, it was the guys…”

“Then I shall thank them, too, the next time I visit.”

His samurai are already waiting for him by the road. Tahomaru touches the neck of his horse, feeling no more of that irrational fear. As if his soul has been strengthened a bit by the short meeting with this girl and her horse, or by this place alone…

“Where are you going now?” Dororo asks.

“To the border, just like I said at the meeting, to subdue a rebellious samurai.”

“Will there be war again?”

“I hope it won’t be needed. Once he sees me and all the samurai faithful to me, he can’t continue to pretend not believing that I am alive.”

The girl nods, brushing her fingers through her horse’s pearly mane. She stays silent for a moment, chewing on her lip, until at last says quietly, without lifting her eyes: “Tahomaru… Please, don’t hate Bro. I mean, I get that you don’t think of him as an enemy anymore, but still—” she looks at the stone upon the grave, her words barely audible, “please, don’t hate him. He’s done some horrible things, and he regrets them so much. Just… _so much._ I’m sure of it.”

 _Me? Hate_ him _? As if I were the one in the position to—_

“I do not hate him,” Tahomaru says, and this very moment, standing by the grave of his closest people, his heart heavy but his eye dry, he means his words. He can’t feel any hatred.

Actually, he can’t really feel _anything_ , or else he would not be standing but crouching on his knees in terrible pain.

But for now, just _knowing_ is enough. He can’t hate his brother. He can’t.

He has the duty to ensure that his father’s last will is fulfilled, and the things are brought back to how they should have been if the deal had never been made. The true heir should inherit this land. This is what matters now.

Tahomaru can feel Dororo’s attentive eyes on him as he mounts his horse and sends it down the slope, and then north, to the plateau still black from the blood that was burnt down to the ground.

Looming above it are twin pines, big and strong but crooked, wringing their branches as if they were silently writhing in pain.

~

“…Wait!”

“…Wait! Wait, I say! Taho…maru!”

He pulls backward and wrenches his horse around. Dororo, breathless, is running to him down the road. She bends over once she catches up, gulping the air.

Tahomaru looks at her in surprise. “What is it?”

“I’m going with you. Don’t you try to object ‘cause I’ve already decided!” she waves her hands around furiously.

Tahomaru is too taken aback to really object, so she continues with enthusiasm:

“No one knows Bro as good as I do. We’ve got our secret signs and signals, you know, like special smoke and such! Without me, you’ll search him for ages. Concerning the village, well, don’t worry, they can do decently without me for a while. Besides, I’m the best travel companion one could ever hope for! I can survive basically everywhere, I can do everything on my own, and I mean _everything_ , and my stone throwing skills are no joke!”

“Where is your steed, then?”

“Eh?” Dororo looks taken aback, too, by the lightness of his question. “Yuki’s too young yet, and it’ll be safer for him to stay back…”

 _“You are the one to talk,”_ he thinks. Taking a child to a potential battle? But suddenly, an idea crosses his mind. Tahomaru hums, amused, as he appraises her dubiously, “So what, do you intend to run _on your own_ alongside us? Are you really that good at travelling?”

Dororo looks at him with a deadpan expression. “No. I’m intending to have you offer me a ride, you witty samurai boy.”

Tahomaru smirks, extending his hand. Dororo reaches for it with a victorious smile. ~~~~

~

The sun sinks into the mist, turning hills and dales of Ishikawa to a golden haze, as they approach the Two Pines. On the field, they see a great host of samurai, their _yari_ spears shining like a pine wood in the last rays of the sun, their banners with the crests of their clans fluttering in the cold breeze like foam on the sea. Loudly and joyously they shout as Tahomaru rides forth, and he greets them with heavy heart.

Dororo quietly gasps in his saddle. She has never seen an army so big while still in all its glory. What she was used to witness was the aftermath: corpses covering the bloody mud, banners lying around broken and torn, and not proud colors but black swarms of crows curling in the stale air…

“Only one thousand we have managed to muster here, lord,” Saito, commander of cavalry, reports as he rides up to Tahomaru. “But all they are mounted samurai fully devoted to you. Responding to your request, Awazu’s one hundred horsemen have set up on the high southern shore of Shibayama. Five hundred our men remained in the castle. The scouts set off east and west this morning; we await their return soon.”

“Thank you for your service,” Tahomaru nods. “Make a camp for the night. Here, we shall wait for the news.”

“Yes, lord.”

Tahomaru dismounts and reaches out to help Dororo, only to find her already on her feet, strolling independently between the confused samurai. She looks around the place with curiosity. But her face is pale, tensed, as though in trepidation that she struggles to suppress.

She seems so out of place here, this little girl who hates all the things related to war, yet time and time again finds herself in the very midst of it. Shortly introducing her as “a family member of great importance”, exchanging mechanically with his generals about provision, logistics and other urgent matters as though he has been doing it his whole life, Tahomaru suddenly feels his mind blank out, seized with a keen sense of incongruity. He halts, looking blindly over the fussing camp. A thick lump is forming in his throat. Here he is, commander of the army bigger than he ever imagined leading in his teens, even as he persuaded Father to let him to war. Almost every samurai left on this land is now gathered here, all of them trusting him wholeheartedly, ready to follow his order even to their death. Is he, a boy of sixteen, competent enough to wield that power? Why should all these old and experienced warriors trust him in doing so? What if he commits a mistake—will they dare to oppose him, or will they follow his will, believing blindly in his miraculous ability to “feel the flow of life” and the divine right to send them to death?

“Tahomaru…” Dororo steps beside him, brushing her fingers against his hand. Her voice is quiet and strained as she asks, “Should you really go fight that samurai? Let him rule if he wants it that much. We can live just fine in the village all together, all we’ve got to do is just find Bro… well, and take in Sensei and the Lady will be cool, too…” She clenches her fists as she looks up at him, her eyes glimmering harshly, “Why must you get dragged into this stuff again? Why the land must suffer another war?”

“I can’t—”

“I know, I know, you can’t give out the land of your great samurai ancestors and all…”

Tahomaru shakes his head, “It's not about that. In truth, I am not the ruler and I can’t give out what’s not mine. This domain belongs to my brother, by our father’s will and by the right of birth. He is the one to decide its destiny.”

_My only role is to preserve it until he is here to make a decision._

Dororo glances up at him, looking taken aback, but quickly drops her eyes. “So, that’s why you are searching him? Your father really wished that?”

“Yes.”

“I know what he’ll say,” she mutters. “ _‘Don’t need it’_.”

“Well, this will also be a decision.”

And a very probable one, Tahomaru thinks. What will he do then? He only came back to keep this land from falling into the chaos of internal wars for the succession, yet that’s what he is doing now. Leading an army to a war. Tahomaru shakes off the chill spreading over his shoulders. _To let Imagawa rule all he wants…_ Perhaps, she is right. Is that what he would have done, restraining his urge to meddle in the affairs of the land he had once failed, letting others to decide its future, had he not had his father’s last will weighing on his shoulders with the heaviness of guilt and duty?

Did he make another wrong decision when he chose to come back? Was his cowardice actually the lesser evil for this land?

What would Hyakkimaru do in this situation, he wonders, had he been the one raised as the heir? Would he give up the rule and step aside—or would he crush the rebellion firmly and fiercely?

“There is still a chance to avoid battle,” Tahomaru says. “Imagawa only needs to see me with his eyes, like you did, and realize there is no trick. He has no reason to oppose at least my rights.”

“Yes. Sounds legit. Then why you don’t believe it will happen?” she looks him straight in the eye.

Tahomaru looks away. He watches the grey dusk closing over the mountains with the same imminence with which the light faded from Mutsu's eyes.

“Because… I guess I’ve long since lost any right to hope for the best.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The three main characters among the Ikki - you might have recognized them as the trio from the last episodes. I had to dig a bit for the third man's name, but thankfully my Dororo Official Complete arrived by then. Actually, that man's name would be usually pronounced as Michihide, but the romaji version is written there as "Doushu" (and it is stated that he is a young monk). Still, it's funny that historically, one of the Ikki's leaders name was Komatsu Michihide (Komatsu is the future name of the castle that is called here "Great River Castle").
> 
> If there are Russians among the readers, you may recognize the theme used in the prologue as that from the traditional song "Black raven/Under the willow" (Pelageya's rendition of it fascinates me).
> 
> Another real thing mentioned is the "Se o hayami" poem by Emperor Sutoku, and it is from another obsession of mine - Chihayafuru and Japanese poetry in general (seriously, Chihayafuru is fantastic! I can't recommend it enough!)


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